


Paint Me Like...

by greenmamba5



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AU, Aromantic Asexual Newt Scamander, Broke Art Student Reader, Credence Barebone Heals, Disheveled Roommate With Zero Chill Newt Scamander, F/M, Homophobia, I'll add specific tags if things get spicy, Lawyer Who Doesn't Want To Live On This Planet Anymore Theseus Scamander, Leta Lestrange is a taker, Newt has dealt with some shit in his past, Non-Magical, Physical Abuse, Reader is Newt's supportive roommate who loves him very much, Schizophrenic Credence Barebone, Southern Baptist Barebone Family, Species Swapped Fantastic Beasts, Stressed Grad Students Queenie and Tina Goldstein, The Perfect Model Credence Barebone, aroace erasure, instead of the Obscurus he has a serious untreated mental illness, past sexual abuse (Newt), present day, the Bible Belt can get bent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmamba5/pseuds/greenmamba5
Summary: You first saw him outside of the run-down Baptist church that was just off-campus.His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, delicate like wings, as he kept his gaze turned downward. His hair was a disaster of a bowlcut but his brow was sharp, his cheekbones angled, and his lips looked terribly soft, even pressed in a thin, nervous line. One of the cult or not, he was stunningly beautiful, and you had the strongest urge to sketch his profile.





	1. ...a cry for help

You first saw him outside of the run-down Baptist church that was just off-campus. 

\----

There was an exhibition looming at the end of the semester and some big names would be traveling from monumental places to scout talent. You hoped to make a good impression, come into the exhibition with strength, but your muse had not been kind to you as of late. 

Your roommate Newton had traipsed off to some nature reserve in South Africa to photograph a very rare white lion that had been born to one of the resident prides. He had even been invited to stay on the reserve for an extended period to study the fauna. Though he was very modest, the truth was that he was one of the most brillaint up-and-coming zoologists in his field. He was flirting with a doctorate and a masters, but he was easily distracted by the call of creatures half-way across the world. 

You could hardly blame him this time, though. It was a wonderful opportunity for him. Unfortunately, Newt was also one of your biggest supporters and he always knew how to nudge you out of a slump, always graced you with the perfect inspiration as he rambled on about whatever species he was studying at the time. His trip had fallen too close to the start of the selection process for the exhibition. The timing couldn't have been worse for you, actually. With him gone, you were grasping at your wits.

You pulled an all-nighter trying to arrange your portfolio, make last-minute selections. Did this piece really compliment that one? Was this one really professional quality? Would that one really get you noticed? 

The morning after crept up on you and you were tumbling over every imaginable obstacle just trying to get out of the house. The menagerie of pets Newt had left for you to watch were incredibly troublesome that particular morning. 

Newt's black devil cat, Niffler, decided to wreck shop in the bathroom. You were fine to leave the mess, but the little bugger managed to lose your contact lens case and you spent a good half hour fumbling around trying to find it before you gave up and wore your glasses instead. Frustrated, you checked the time and rushed to get everyone their breakfast before leaving.

Frank, Newt's cockatoo, jimmied his cage door open and nearly slapped you in the face when you went into Newt's room to feed him. The bird fluttered down the hall and you all but leaped on top of him to keep him from the "work room" that served as an office for Newt and a mini-studio for you. It had been a bedroom, and Newt had turned the closet into a small dark room. The room was chock full of aerosols, paints, developers, and an array of chemicals that were very harmful to birds and it was the one area that Frank was very strictly banned from.

The bird, who was actually a good five or six years older than you, was a rescue, of course, and was Newt's pride and joy. You'd be damned if he went and offed himself while Newt was gone.

You postponed feeding Pickett, a grumpy veiled chameleon, until after your morning class, partially because Frank and Niffler had already run you late but mostly because Pickett was an asshole of a lizard to anyone but Newt and you didn't particularly feel like being hissed at on top of everything else.

You packed up your things and raced to campus, silently cursing because you knew you'd never find a good parking spot so late in the morning. And, you didn't have time for coffee. Beautiful start.

\----

You whipped into the church lot, which, strictly speaking, was off-limits to students looking for an easy parking spot. A witch of a lady named Mary Barebone ran the Baptist church, and she was particularly unforgiving, not to mention abso-fucking-lutely insane. She often picketted on campus, screaming cultish nonsense about the sins of the world and handing out brochures to unlucky passer-bys. She wasn't the type anyone wanted to mess around with.

But, the church was so close to the Fine Arts building that you'd just have to risk getting towed if it meant getting into your workshop on time. You ducked out of your car, hiding behind the few vehicles that were occupying the lot. The church was quiet and you skirted out, making a quick escape towards your building. 

"You shouldn't park there." 

You nearly tripped in fear as you looked wildly toward the voice. You spotted a young man with dark features sitting on the step at the back door of the church. He was balancing a lit cigarette between his fingers. His expression flickered to something like fear and he dropped his hand out of sight. "It's... not a good idea."

"Look, I'm running late to a really important class," you said, checking your watch. "I--shit, just tow me. A fee will be the least of my worries if I miss this." 

You turned to walk again, but he called out, "She might not tow you."

You whirled back on him. "What's she gonna do, wait for me?"

"She might," he said, his eyes dropping off to the side. 

You raised a brow and, against your better judgement, walked over to him. His shoulder slumped unconsciously, moving the cigarette even further out of sight. His opposite arm was laid across his lap and where his hand peeked out from his jacket--which in itself was ridiculous as it was 90-fucking-degrees Farenheit outside--you could see angry red marks.

"She gonna bless me out about parking at her church?" you snapped.

"Probably." He shifted anxiously.

"And what if I'm interested in hearing the word of God?" you joked.

"You aren't," he said. "You wouldn't be, not from here."

His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, delicate like wings, as he kept his gaze turned downward. His hair was a fucking disaster of a bowlcut but his brow was sharp, his cheekbones angled, and his lips looked terribly soft, even pressed in a thin, nervous line. One of the cult or not, he was stunningly beautiful, and you had the strongest urge to sketch his profile.

He did, however, look terrified. Of what, you were unsure, but it threw up about a thousand red flags--something was horribly wrong here. 

"Got another?" you asked quietly. 

"Another...?"

"Cigarette."

He flinched. "No, I shouldn't even be... no, I don't."

"Shouldn't be?" you said. "Or... can't?"

He lifted his had, regarding the cigarette as if it were about to bite him. His cuticles were cracked and you shuddered at the sight of--

"Jesus, your hand--"

He tucked his hand out of sight again. "It's fine."

You stood quietly for a moment. The pieces didn't make sense to you, exactly, but you could paint something of a bigger picture. Cigarette--shouldn't be smoking--nervous--hiding outside the church--anxiety--fear--cut all over his hands--but he was definitely an adult. Why would he put up with abuse when he could just move away from it? Who was Mary Barebone to him that he'd be forced to follow her rule?

Something was terribly wrong here.

"Is that what happens if you're caught smoking?" you asked, unsure that you wanted the answer.

"I haven't been caught at it," he whispered. "Yet."

You dropped your hand in front of him--and, oh, your heart ached when he shuddered as though you were about to strike him. "Hand it over, then."

He stared up at you. "What?"

"She might smell it on your clothes, right?" you asked. "Trust me."

He typically didn't wear his jacket out when he smoked--he'd been careless. He hesitated but reluctantly handed the half-burned cigarette over. You accepted it, took a drag, and puffed the smoke out skywards. You took a few steps back, keeping the evidence. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing as you walked backwards away from him.

"Damn delinquents," you said. "Trespassing on church property and smoking on top of it. You tried to stop me, really you did, but I just couldn't be persuaded. Tell her I blew smoke in your face for good measure, too. If she wants to lecture me, I'll be back in a couple of hours." You tipped the cigarette at him, pulled another drag from it, and walked on.

\----

He watched you walk away, perplexed by your actions. It seemed that you were trying to... cover for him. He couldn't imagine why you would do that, but his chest swelled in an unfamiliar way at the thought of it. His Ma was out for the morning, but she would likely be back before you had a chance to retrieve your vehicle. He only hoped that you knew what trouble would await you when you returned.

\----

You bummed a pack of cigarettes before you made your way back, just in case you had to make a show of your "smoking habit." Queenie, one of the graduate assistants over your workshop hadn't asked many questions when you requested them, but she gave you a curious look as she handed the pack over.

"I'll pay you back," you said.

"Don't worry about it, honey," she said sweetly. "I didn't know you smoked, though. Is everything okay?"

Queenie was sugar-sweet and next-to-impossible to lie to. So, you didn't try. "No, I don't think so. But, maybe it will get better."

"If you need anything... I know your roomie being gone has been rough on you, y'know, so if you need anything--"

"I'll ask. Thank you, Queenie." She worried her lip anixiously. "It'll be fine. I promise."

\----

Mary Barebone was waiting for you, as expected, when you returned to your car. She stood, arms crossed, at the back door of the church and she met you when you crossed into the parking lot. You had a cigarette between your lips for good measure and you removed it and blew smoke dramatically as she neared you.

"Young lady," she said, "are you aware that this lot is not part of the University?"

You looked around quietly. "Oh, really? I had no idea."

"I believe my son tried to inform you." You cringed internally--son, that poor man was this witch's son. "Also, we have a very strict policy on tobacco use on church grounds."

"Oh," you said. You took a final drag and snuffed the light out on the ground. You held the butt. "No littering, yeah?" You stood in fonrt of her, unbudging. "I think I've seen your daughters with you on campus. Didn't know you had a son, ma'am."

"Ah, Credence is... well, frankly, he's a very troubled young man. He was very upset with your actions this morning. I would greatly appreciate it if you avoided coming here again. Unless, of course, you have an interest in bettering yourself through God."

You felt sick. Troubled young man, your ass. Nothing about this place of this woman sat right with you. You were about to push past her towards your car when the back door to the church opened and the man--Credence--peered outside. 

"Ma, Mr. Shaw is here to see you," he said quietly. 

She turned to him, "Can't you see I'm speaking with the young lady from this morning? I told you to stay inside."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled. 

"Actually," you said quickly, "I... honestly, have be feeling troubled lately. And maybe... my family was never religious, ma'am, so I don't even know where to begin."

"Oh?"

"I'd like to know more, I think, but I don't want to tie you up if you have something more important..." You gestured toward the church, where someone was waiting for her.

"Oh, dear girl," she said, "there's always time for the Lord. Actually, Credence, be a dear and fetch this young lady one of or service schedules." He nodded and disappeared into the church. "I mustn't make Mr. Shaw wait, but Credence will be right out. Please come to one of our services and we can speak more."

"Thank you, ma'am," you said, the words feeling like ash on your tongue. 

She went back into the church and Credence soon came out, holding a pamphlet. He handed it over, looking back over his shoulder to make sure his mother had actually gone inside.

"I don't know what you're trying to do," he said, "but please, don't. It will only make it worse when she finds out you're mocking her."

"She did that to your hands." It wasn't a question and his silence was damning. "Why stick around? Why not run away?"

"Nowhere to go," he said, sadly.

"And if you had somewhere?"

"She'll convince the wrong people that I'm mentally unstable."

"What, has she gone through court to get legal guardianship of you?" you asked.

"Well, no," he admitted. 

"That's an extremely complicated process," you said. "Would she actually go through with that?"

He thought about it a moment. Legal fees weren't cheap, and his mother barely sacrificed anything to keep him fed. He doubted, honestly, that she would take legal action to keep him. Then again, he had no money, no other family, no job... Leaving the church was an impossibility. 

"She didn't find out about the cigarette, right?" you asked. 

"No, you were right, but she believed the part about you blowing it at me," he said. "Thank you for that." He wrung his hands together, and their were words hanging on the tip of his tongue. "She'll still find something to blame me for. Letting you go when your car was here or speaking to you at all in the first place or even for staying out too long to talk to you right now."

"And what will happen?" He didn't reply. "Credence--it's Credence, right?--listen to me. I can help you." You didn't know where this was coming from, offering help to a complete stranger this way. But, you felt sure that Newt would agree with you if he were here, and he'd always had the stronger moral compass of the two of you--or maybe he was just crazier. Either way, something needed to be done, you couldn't deny that. "Just come with me, and I'll help you."

"I can't," he said. His eyes dart to the side as though he was expecting his mother to appear at any moment and drag him back inside. "I can't. It'll be so much worse if--and if I leave, she may do it to my sisters instead. She's never hit them. If she started hitting them, I could never--"

"Credence!" 

He shuddered at his mother's voice. "Coming!"

Do or die, you thought. If he went back inside, you might not see him again, or if you did he might not speak to you again. "Credence, please," you said quietly. "If I can get your sisters taken away from her, would you run away?"

He hesitated only long enough to give you a pleading stare. He wouldn't dare say it, but then, he didn't have to. He disappered into the church without another word. 

And you planned to call in some favors.


	2. ...Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is more build-up heavy on the relationship between Reader and Newt (who is aroace!).
> 
> This story is going to get a lot weightier than I thought. Things to expect that may be triggering now or in future chapters: homophobia, physical abuse, aroace erasure, sexual manipulation (this will NOT be targeted in any way towards the Barebone trio–if this is covered, it is strictly Newt struggling with his own identity and being in relationships with shitty people), pro-life picketing, and anything that you could imagine coming from Mary Lou.
> 
> It will become something healthy and happy for all involved, but it will take a bit to get there.

You returned home briefly after class to clean up the mess from the morning and finish the feeding schedule. Following that, you had another class and a few errands to run before you returned home late in the afternoon. You’d had plenty of time to make a plan of action throughout the day and when you arrived at your house, you had your phone out and ready. You keyed in the mile-long string of numbers required to dial out to Newt and waited impatiently for him to answer.

It went to voicemail once, twice, and on the third time you called, he picked up with a groggy, “Mmm'ello?”

“Newt, what’s your brother’s number?”

“Ha… wha… who is this?”

“Who is–are you joking right now?” You sputtered.

He mumbled your name in question, followed by a string a heavily accented profanities that were most definitely British in origin. “You’re phoning me at one in th'bloody morning for Theseus’ number?”

“One in the–oh shit, I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I wasn’t thinking about the time zone. But this is important.”

“There’s this thing called The Internet,” Newt grumbled. “And believe it or not, you can use it to look people up. And even more amazingly, there are only a half dozen people in the entire world named Scamander–basically the Holy Grail of shite names.”

“Okay, smartass,” you sighed. “I need his cell number.”

He sat up in bed, popping in an ear bud and searching through his contacts. Human interaction had never been easy for him, but the two of you had hit it off at the beginning of your college career and had been living together since. He’d gotten comfortable with you, enough so that he could crack jokes.

“I knew you had a thing for him,” he teased.

“Nah, I prefer klutzy gingers with terrible hair.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘tousled,’” he laughed, unconsciously ruffling his hair.

“Tousled like a mop.”

“You wound me. Are you writing this down?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” He recited off the phone number and you copied it on a piece of scrap paper. “Thanks, Newt.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his words lined with worry. “You’re not in trouble are you?” Theseus was an up-and-coming lawyer–he’d always been the prodigal child, the one who would make something of himself while Newt stumbled through life.

“I just need to talk to someone who knows what they’re talking about.” He couldn’t imagine why you would need legal counsel.

“Do I need to come home?” Newt offered. “If something’s wrong I can–”

“I’m fine, Mum,” you joked. He had a habit of calling himself 'Mummy’ to his pets and you’d taken to using the nickname when he was worrying like a hen. “I just… ran into someone who needs help. And, I want to do something, but I don’t want to go in half-cocked and make it worse.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I’m all but finished here with documentation. I can be on the next plane to the States–”

“Really, it’s fine,” you urged. “You just do your thing in Africa and don’t get mauled by lions.”

“Oh, come now,” he said, “I have to cross it off my bucket list some time.”

“I mean it, Newt,” you added. “Be safe out there. Miss you.”

He bit his lip as a wide grin splayed across his face. “Miss you, too.

————–

The call to Theseus was an awkward one.

Naturally, you’d met the man before–hell, you’d spent the Christmas holiday in London with the Scamanders on more than one occasion–but Newt’s relationship with his brother was one build on unequal distribution of their parents’ affections. Even though Newt had been the first to move abroad and study in America, Theseus seemed to garner more admiration for doing the same thing years later.

And, there was the small detail that Theseus was incredibly boisterous and Newt could only handle him in small doses. The elder Scamander brother was very much the type who’d receive credit for a good joke simply because he said it louder, and it grated on Newt’s very last nerve.

You were relieved that Theseus at least remembered who you were when you made the call. However, you struggled to explain your situation concisely while also keep details vague. Theseus said, much to your feared expectation, that the adult in the situation needed to simply report his abuse and get out while the authorities investigated–there was nothing tying him down. The children, however, would need special intervention.

Apparently, their most likely options, if abuse or neglect was confirmed, were foster care, adoption by another family member, or transfer of legal guardianship to an adult who could prove they had appropriate means to take on the girls. That, unfortunately, disqualified Credence from taking them on himself, and you had a suspicion that he’d been isolated from the outside world for that very reason.

"If you suspect that they’re in danger,” Theseus said, “filing a report with the appropriate flags could expedite the process, or they could be placed in a shelter until the case is completed. But, that would be more a case for CPS in your area.”

“I understand,” you said. “Sorry for calling out of the blue–I sort of bullied Newt into giving me your number.”

“Not a problem,” he replied. “I wish I could help more.” He paused for an uncomfortable amount of time. “How is Newton? Or, rather, where is he? I have a fleeting suspicion he’s somewhere with no reception, or else he’s been screening my calls.”

“He’s… well, he’s good. He’s in South Africa for the rest of the month, so he may be in and out of signal range.”

“Tell him next time to warn somebody before he drops off the map,” Theseus groaned. “Mum’s been asking about him a lot and when he doesn’t answer for weeks, we start to wonder if he met his fate in the wilderness somewhere.”

You laughed a little. “If you get worried, you can always give me a call. I lose touch with him sometimes, but I usually have a general idea of where he is. Threatening to put his cat outside if he doesn’t check in every few days normally does the trick.” Not that you’d ever actually do something of the sort to Niffler, but it got the point across.

“Good on you,” Theseus said. “Now if you could just get him to hurry up and pop the question like we’ve all been waiting for–”

You flinched. Newt had warned you at the last Scamander Christmas that the family was placing bets on when he’d ask you to marry him. Newt was adamant that he wasn’t the marrying type. Or the romance type. Or the sex type, for that matter. You understood, but it was a point of contention with his family–“it’s a phase” they told him, “you just haven’t met the right person,” or “are you sure you aren’t just gay? Because we would support you so you can stop pretending to be this aro-asex thing.”

“It’s not like that between us,” you said, trying to hold back the bite to your words.

“Come on, how many years have you been sharing a flat now?” he insisted. “You’re basically already married.”

“Just roommates,” you corrected. This conversation was an old wound between Newt and Theseus and the whole of the Scamander family, and you wanted to scold Theseus for pushing that agenda on his brother.

You vividly recalled an incident where Newt had gotten into an actual shouting match with Theseus after being accused of making up his sexuality just so he would be “edgy” or “different.” Newt had slammed into your bedroom, blurted out, “Would you kiss me?”

“Would I… what?” you had gasped.

“Kiss me,” he had repeated. “So I know I’m not just making it up. I like you, so if I’m going to feel something, it’ll be with you. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not…” He had gotten so shaken up and when you crossed the room to him he could barely look at you. “Newt, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“Please,” he had said. “If it magically flips a switch or something, it needs to be you… because… because I know you’ll be…” You’ll be kind, he had wanted to say. You’ll be gentle with me.

You had tiptoed up, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and hugging him tightly. “You and I both know there isn’t a magic on switch. And when it didn’t work, I expect you’d just tell me I’m shite at kissing anyway.”

He had attempted a laugh. “Well, are you?”

“No. Allegedly, I’m pretty fantastic. Shame you’re not into that sort of thing, cause I would absolutely rock your world.”

“Thanks, but no,” he had said with an actual laugh. “No, I think I’m good.” He had taken a shaky breath, his anger with his brother replaced by validation. He had returned the embrace lightly. “I love you, though, really I do. You believe that, right? I just don’t… I’m not making any sense.”

“I understand,” you had assured. “I understand, Newt. You don’t have to explain it to me. We’re fine the way we are.”

You and Newt were just that–you and him and your understanding and it didn’t have to be anything but that.

Back in the present, you choked on the silence that followed your refusal to buy into the marrying off of Newt to settle him down. “Anyway, thank you again for the information, Theseus. I’ll try to contact someone local, see if I can’t get something started.”

“Right, take care.”

You chucked your phone onto your desk beside the pamphlet that Credence had handed you earlier that day. You picked up the paper, reading over the service times. It was currently just after 6pm and one of the services happened to be scheduled at 7:30pm. You mulled the thought over in your mind, feeling a sick weight in your stomach.

You hadn’t gathered enough information to make a move yet, but if you didn’t show up to one of the damn sermons, Mary Barebone would instantly know you had lied–if she hadn’t figured that out already. If she sniffed you out, you’d have no chance of getting close again.

You groaned, kicking back from your desk and nearly rolling over a cat’s tail. It was a white cat instead of the mischievous black beast Niffler–this one was Dougal, a lazy old tomcat you and Newt had found in a dumpster behind the Biology building around two years ago. He regarded you with his two-colored yellow and blue eyes–heterochromia, Newt had called it, a fairly common occurrence in white cats.

“You think I should go?” you asked the cat, as though he would return some sagelike advice.

He yawned and leaped onto your bed, curling his back to you.

You took it as a yes.

————-

The church was surprisingly busy, though you suspected that a lot of people came for the free meal that was served after the service. You couldn’t be too against that aspect of the church, which probably fed some who otherwise would not have had a meal. However, you never liked the idea of bribing hungry people with food to further an agenda.

You felt eyes burning into you when you filed through the atrium and into the sanctuary, the stares of regulars who had immediately singled you out as an outsider. There were empty pews scattered all throughout the church, and you took a seat beside a friendly-enough looking elderly woman.

She smiled up at you, and you felt something oddly eerie about her, despite her grandma-esque look. “Hullo, honey, I haven’t seen you before.”

You put on your best demure Southern Belle face–which in other situations Newt had absolutely laughed aloud at, though you felt it was more of a survival tactic in this place–and replied, “No, ma'am, Mrs. Barebone just invited me today. It’s my first time here.”

“It’s Miss, not Missus,” the woman said. “Mary Lou never did marry. She’s very devoted to our Lord.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, feigning interest. “That’s very, um, holy of her.”

“No, now what’s holy is adopting all those hellion children,” she hissed. Your heart fluttered anxiously. “Bless her heart, she has so much trouble with them.”

Now you were interested. “You mean the girls? I’ve seen them at some of the events on campus–I’m a student there, you see. The girls always seem very polite.”

“Chastity is an angel, but that Modesty…” The woman worked her jaw in agitation. “Why, Mary Lou told me she saw a coupla queers while she was out shopping, just holding hands like it was nothin’. An’ y'know what that little Moddy said? She says, 'But Ma, what if they actually like each other?’”

“Oh, that’s… shocking.” You tried to pull a face, but it was exceedingly hard.

“An’ I know she raised that girl better,” the woman continued, unphased. “It just tears me up. Where d'they even pick up such nonsense?”

She rambled on about something or other else that the youngest girl had done when a tall man with white-blond hair stepped up to the pulpit and cracked open his Bible. The woman ceased her chatter for a moment to introduce him to you.

“That’s Mr. Gellert Grindelwald,” she said. “But, we all call him Brother Gell.”

“I see,” you hummed. He didn’t strike you as a pleasant man at all. The woman resumed her gossip and you mostly tuned it out, hoping that she would stop when the opening music began. That was one thing about Baptist service you didn’t protest terribly–the music at least had a nice sound to it.

She only dropped her voice to a whisper when Brother Gell began speaking, instructing the congregation to turn to page such-and-such in their hymn books. “…and y'think that’s bad, you wouldn’t believe that wretch of a son she’s got.” Your head actually snapped up to meet hers. “Maybe you haven’t even met him. Mary Lou keeps him pretty close, t'keep him outta trouble. He ain’t right, that one. He’s young like you, but don’t let that fool ya. He’s twisted t’ the core.”

You felt ill. Your eyes darted around, looking for Credence. You found Chastity and Modesty amongst the choir behind the pulpit, Mary Barebone seated at the piano, numerous heads poking out from the pews, but none with the stark blunt haircut. You realized numbly that Credence wasn’t in the room.

“…caught him stealing from the offering bowls a few months ago, and after that–”

“Ma'am, I’m sorry, but where’s the restroom?” you asked as politely as you could.

“Oh, sure thing, honey, it’s all the way up front. See th’ door on the right? Hang around the corner, walk past the kitchen and it’s the second on th’ left.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll be right back.”

Music started and the congregation stood and erupted into song. You hoped that Mary hadn’t seen you skirt into the depths of the church. The walls drowned out most of the voices and only the faint vibration of the piano echoed through. You found the bathroom, stumbled in and ran cold water over your wrists. “The arteries in your arms carry blood to your body quickly,” Newt had said once. The water cooled the blood in your veins and spread the relieving sensation through your fear-flushed body.

After a minute you trudged out, your resolve to go back out faltering now that you knew Credence wasn’t even there. You hesitated in the hallway, taking a deep breath. From a room further down the hall, you could here clear words pairing with the muffled music. Your ears perked at the sound and you moved further into the church to investigate.

The words were perfectly pitched to the melody of “When We All Get To Heaven” and they sounded like liquid honey pouring out of the room. As the neared, you knew, just knew that it was Credence, that he was hiding away from everyone else. When you reached the door, he was on the second verse.

“While we walk the pilgrim pathway,  
Clouds will overspread the sky;”

His dark eyes were closed peacefully and his brows were relaxed. He allowed a slight smile to curl the edges of his lips as he sang.

“But when trav'ling days are over,  
Not a shadow, not a sigh.”

His dark hair formed sharp edges around his face, accenting the strong angle of his cheekbones, nose, and jaw. His skin was pale and unmarred. His posture was relaxed, reclined in a fold-out chair, with his arms crossed over his chest. He was stunning, and you burned the image in your mind.

“—When we all–”

His voice cut off abruptly and you realized he was staring fearfully at you. You jolted.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“I’m checking in, I guess,” you said.

“Ma’ll switch out and have Chastity play after this song,” he warned. “She always comes to make sure I’m not–you have to get back out there–”

“I will, please calm down–”

“You don’t understand what she’ll do to me if she sees you back here!” he pleaded and your heart crumbled at the urgency in his voice.

You backed away from the door. “Okay, I’m leaving. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sadly.

You glanced down the hall. The same melody was still playing. “Credence, if you ever need somewhere to go, there’s room in the Fine Arts building across the street. Downstairs, room B2. It’s locked, safe.”

“B… B2?” he repeated, his eyes wide and… hopeful?

“B2,” you said. “Fine Arts building, basement. The key code is 3575.”

“3575.”

“If anyone is in there, say Queenie told you to wait there, and you won’t have to say anything else. You can go there any time.”

“B2,” he repeated. “3575.”

You nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

You dashed back to the end of the hallway and disappeared into the sanctuary. Credence drew his hand up to his mouth, as though trying to hold the secret numbers in. He prayed, “B2, Queenie, 3575… B2, Queenie, 3575.”

He grew quiet when he heard his Ma coming down the hall to check on him.


	3. ...River Rapids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Obscurus has a counterpart in this AU as well. I haven’t exactly had to write anything like this before, so I want it to be meaningful but also respectful. Please, let me know what you think.

Your phone blew up around 1:00am. You half-assumed it was your morning alarm, unaware of the time, but you felt incredibly tired, so groggy that you let the call ring through several times. When you realized that the ringing was stopping without an input to the snooze button, you bolted awake to answer. The words ‘Incoming Call from… Noodle’ (a nickname you used for Newt which was often switched out for Mum or Mummy or some exaggerated misspelling of his last name) flashed across the face of your phone, along with a picture of Newt’s face pressed against a window, as though he were trapped inside.

You answered frantically, fearing that this would be the dreaded, “We’re terribly sorry, miss, but your friend has been devoured by an apex predator much more clever than he. You were listed in his will as the person to inherit his cats, bird, and chameleon. He requests that you delete his browser history, burn any embarassing photos that you have, and include aforementioned bird in your will, seeing as how it will likely outlive you.”

Yes, you had rehearsed this.

Instead, you were greeted by Newt’s cheerful voice on the other end. “Good morning, sunshine! Have you slept well?”

“Newt, oh my god–!” you groaned.

“Just payback,” he said with a laugh.

“What time is it there?” you grumbled.

“It’s, oh… nine in the morning.”

“You woke up at nine in the morning to prank call me?” you huffed. “You know it was five at night here when I called you, right?”

A pregnant pause filled the line, then a frustrated growl. “Well, now my joke isn’t nearly as funny.”

“You big idiot,” you laughed. “Was that the only reason you called?”

“Yes. Well, no,” he corrected. “I suppose not. Is everything okay at home?”

You sat up, bundling your blankets around like a cocoon. The truth was that Newt was a terrible worrier, despite his supposed philosophy about worrying making you suffer twice, and he had probably not been able to fall back asleep after your call.

“Everything’s fine, Mum,” you teased. “Well, except that Theseus still thinks you’ve got an engagement ring up your sleeve for me.”

“Typical,” Newt groaned. “Well, do you have a lot to do tomorrow? I can let you go if I need to…”

“Newt, are you okay?” you asked, emphasizing the 'you.’

“Just wanted to know more about what’s going on, if you had the time.”

“Oh,” you said. “Oh, yeah. No, I’m modeling for Queenie tomorrow, but that won’t be until late morning. I can stay up a bit.” He gave a relieved sort of sigh. “So, here’s what’s going on, and tell me if you can think of anything I haven’t…”

————-

Credence found himself alone in the church the next morning. The girls were at school and his Ma had gone out of town with Brother Gellert on errands. They would be scheduling various repairs around the church, new hymn books needed to be picked up, and they were meeting with several of the smaller churches in the area to coordinate a joint supper between the towns. Credence had strict orders to be home to meet the girls when they returned, as the errand running would take until at least 5:00pm.

The church was only a few blocks from the Barebone household, and Credence’s two options for the day were to either wait there or head back home and wait for the multitude of hours until the bus dropped the girls off.

Neither sounded appealing, so he considered other options. Though he was only technically allowed to be at home or church, he has become fairly skilled at sneaking around without any church members seeing him outside. He knew where some of the congregation did business and purposefully avoided those places.

And when the Careful Voice said he was walking toward trouble, he listened. On such occasions, he would simply return home, where it was safe–at least when his Ma wasn’t around.

That voice was quiet today, though, and he was instead getting quiet feedback from the Nice Voice.

-get out do it go for a walk-

He supposed he could walk farther out if he wanted, but the temperature was in record high digits for the time of year. He had no money to go to any of the stores that were on campus, so he had no real reason to go there. The final possibility was the University library, but they were becoming stricter about only allowing access to students and he could only get away with saying he forgot his ID so many times–he was simply too recognizable.

B2, Queenie, 3575.

He tensed just thinking about barging into any room on campus that actually required a code to get in. He had no idea what sort of room he’d be walking into or who “Queenie” was. You hadn’t given him much information, but then he hadn’t really given you much of a chance to explain either.

B2, Queenie, 3575.

He had a firm hold on the bits of information in his mind–for now. Part of him feared that if he didn’t act with them immediately, he might lose them, as he often did with small details.

Before he thought better of it, he found himself walking across the street, headed for the Fine Arts building. There were people walking all around him, backpacks slung over their shoulder. Some were sitting in the grass reading. Others were seated on benches eating a late breakfast. He circled the building once, gathering courage to actually step inside.

The lobby of the building was very regal. Pristine marbled walls encased decorated staircases. There were large canvases and woven textiles hanging on nearly every available surface. Abstract structures were erected in open corners. It was like walking into a museum.

He spent a long while ogling the artwork, comfortable doing so only after he had seen other people doing the same. The works were on display, after all. People were walking all around him, murmuring and chattering and the sounds blurred into a comfortable haze. He wasn’t sure how long he stood in front of each particular piece of artwork, but he was snapped back to reality by the sound of a cellphone ringing, like a siren.

Suddenly the Careful One piped up with a -runrunrun- and the ever-hated Dangerous Voice added in -they know you don’t belong here they’re coming for you they’ll punish you.- He began searching for stairs leading to the basement.

—-

The lower floor had dimmer lighting and smelled of chemicals, but the walls were lined with beautiful photos that were highlighted with spotlights. He read the room numbers: B12, B10, B8… He moved down the long hallway, admiring the photos along the way. When he reached B2, he took a moment to read the signs posted on the door.

There was a centered nameplate on the door that read “Graduate Student Studio 14.” From there signs, quick cartoonish sketches, and notes spiraled out from the center. One in very Flowery handwriting read: “Queenie’s Dressing Room.”

One long list read:

Will work for:  
-chai lattes   
-matcha latte  
-mochacinno   
-caffeine of literally any kind  
-straight up BOURBON   
-a London Fog anyone?  
(you would you fucking Brit);

Another lengthy addition, a stack of Post-it Notes that alerted:

Don’t forget to submit your proposals by the end of the month (Friday)  
NEWT. PROPOSAL. NEXT FRIDAY  
Somebody please submit Newt’s proposal (you have one week)  
-I submitted last night <3

Above that hodgepodge of signage, there was a large rainbow-striped check mark decal with the words “Safe Space” underneath it.

Below the signs were color-coded spreadsheets with classes and times listed. He could only assume that these were the class schedules for the frequent occupants of the room. He noted the name Queenie on one, but the rest were unfamiliar names to him. He paused for a moment, realizing he hadn’t caught your name either of the times he spoke to you. Did that mean you were Queenie?

The Nice One purred, -go, it’s safe, it says it right there on the door- even as the Dangerous One mocked, -trap it’s a trap you’re in so much trouble-

Determined to ignore the second voice, he lifted a shaky hand to the keypad and forced himself to type the numbers. The keypad blinked green and he slowly pushed the door open. He was greeted by the smells of paint and incense. He stepped inside, noting six desks, complete with hutches, lining the outer wall, and was startled when he saw someone else in the room.

She was a blonde woman in a light pink sundress. She turned to him, lifting a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “Hey there, can I help you with somethin’?”

Credence’s throat clenched. “Ah… I was… Queenie told me to wait here, I think?”

Her lips quirked in confusion. "I did?“

-trap a trap a traaaaaap you fell for it-

Credence felt the blood draining from his face. So, this woman was Queenie, not you. He hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t sure what to say next and part of him wanted to just back out of the room and run. Queenie smiled at him, cutting the silence.

"Is everything okay, honey? You don’t look so good.”

“I was told to give your name,” Credence said quietly. “She, ah… said no one would ask questions if I said I was waiting for you.”

“Wouldn’t ask questions?” she hummed. “Oh… oh! Are you in some kind of trouble? Oh, but that’s a question. Sorry, just have a seat. The couch over in the corner is really comfy!” She gestured to a beat-up, paint stained sectional couch at the end of the room. “Sorry, we tell our students at the beginning of each semester that if they need any help they can come to our studio, no questions asked. I forgot that I was the designated 'person to ask for.’ Last semester it was a nice girl named Liz, but she graduated.”

Credence sat nervously on the couch, staring at the floor. He very much wanted to leave, but he wasn’t sure how to get away with her talking to him.

“Would you like something to drink, honey?” Queenie asked sweetly. “We have water or soda… and maybe sweet tea if anybody remembered to make it…”

“No, thank you,” Credence clipped. It was becoming harder to speak over the screech that was building in his ears. Queenie didn’t seem to be affected by it though, so he wrung his hands and tried to block out the sound. It’s not real, he thought, not real, not real, it’s not–

He looked up under his bangs, studying the artwork on the walls to wipe his mind clean. In the corner opposite the couch, there was a cluttered desk. Around it were animal paintings made with pastel watercolors. There were also some half-finished canvases with nude models posed upon them. Above the desk was a enlarged photo of a copper-haired man laughing and dancing with–

He jumped up and stalked up to the photo. It was you in the photo, dancing with the man. He was dipping you backwards and you were both flashing huge grins to the camera, yours looked breathlessly happy and his was slightly crooked. You were stunningly vibrant and beautiful. The longer Credence started at the picture, the more it looked like the two of you were overbalanced and about to fall. Maybe you had. Maybe the photo had just been timed perfectly.

“What’s her name?” Credence asked, nudging his shoulder toward to your portait. He had long since put his hands in his pockets. Queenie hadn’t seemed to have noticed the cuts on his hands, and he’d prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible. “She’s the one who told me to come here, but I didn’t get her name.”

Queenie supplied your name and said, “I thought she was acting funny yesterday.”

“That’s when we met,” Credence admitted.

“Well, whatever you have going on, you’re safe here, honey,” Queenie said. “Just make yourself comfortable. I can talk to you, if you’d like, or you can wait for her.”

“Her, I’ll wait,” Credence said, feeling his chest swell with warmth.

“She should be here in less than an hour, actually,” Queenie said. “She’s modeling for me today.”

“She’s a model?”

“Among other things! I’m getting ready for the summer FashionFest, so she’s been modeling outfits for me. Mannequins are nice, but they can’t tell me if the clothes are comfortable to move around in.” She noticed Credence staring at the photo of you above your desk again. She smiled and said, “His name’s Newt.”

“Newt?” he repeated, not sure he’d heard it right.

“He’s her roomie, and he also studies here, total sweetheart,” Queenie said brightly.

-roommate, yeah right- the Dangerous One shouted. -she’s fucking him- it taunted. Credence swallowed hard, both at the profanity and the meaning behind it. It knew. It knew he thought you were attractive. -what? you thought you had a chance?-

“They look close,” Credence said, feeling choked.

“They are. They’ve lived together for… oh goodness, at least three years now.” Queenie added, “They aren’t dating, though.”

Credence flushed. “I wasn’t–”

“Oh, no, honey, I didn’t mean anything by it. We have to tell everyone that. It’s kind of a touchy subject for them.”

Credence wondered why but didn’t ask her to elaborate. The Dangerous One had quieted a little, long enough for him to focus an the artwork on your desk. He glanced over the sketches laid out on the surface. You appeared to be practicing with human life drawing. There were dozens of poses lined out on the desk, each one sketched out in charcoal. He heard Queenie talking and realized she had been talking the whole time to fill the silence.

“…she likes traditional media, and her watercolors are so beautiful. She’s been working on anatomy but her models keep skipping out or getting sick before a full session can be finished. Oh, and would you like a tour of the studio?”

“I don’t want to interrupt anything,” Credence said.

“I can’t start working without my model, anyway,” Queenie said smiling. She announced your desk again. “She isn’t technically a graduate student yet, but since she’s coming back for her masters in the Fall and we had the space in here, they let her set up early.”

She gestured to the desk sitting to the immediate left of yours. It was considerably neater, more empty. There were rolls of film and stacks of starchy, light colored papers tucked up in the hutch. “This is Newt’s, and this is the most organized you’ll ever see it. He’s actually photographing lions in Africa right now, so his desk hasn’t been used in a couple weeks. He really enjoys photography, but he also does a lot of work out of the Zoology department. He could’ve had and office there, but we’re clearly the better officemates.”

His interest in animals was evident. There were many black and white photos pinned around the desk and they were nearly all of animals: a lean, sleek jaguar stalking closer; a flock of birds skimming over the surface of water; a black cat bundled up on a bed, laying on top of a necklace; the list went on… There was a photo of you with a monkey of some sort draped across your shoulders. It was one of the few color photos and also had an amatuer quality to it. Beside it was a photo of Newt himself stretched out asleep on a couch, face down, with a fat white cat curled up on his back. This photo, too, had not been taken professionally. And finally… finally…

Another photo of you and him together, both of you sleeping on the same couch Credence had just been sitting on. Your heads were resting in the corner, where the two sides of the sectional couch met, and you were sharing a pillow, the tops of your heads barely touching. Your arms bend upwards and your fingers were laced together.

The Dangerous One howled with laughter at the pang of heartache the photo caused and Credence shook in embarrassment. It took all his strength not to yell back at the voice.

Unknowing, Queenie grinned brightly as she went down the line of the four remaining desks. Beside Newt’s was another desk, belonging to a student who was currently abroad, that had been cleaned out for the semester. Next was Queenie’s work station. As noted, she studied fashion and had catalogs of patterns, pincushions stuck completely full, and an array of scissors. Her area was kept very tidy.

The final two desks were unoccupied and were used to hold excess supplies. “My sister Tina also uses one of the desks sometimes, but she’s from another department.”

She walked through the odds and ends of the room: Couch on one end, easels propped all around, a clothesline with clips where photos were hung to dry, extra chairs stacked in a corner, and a mini fridge pushed under one of the unused desks.

“We’re kind of the overflow room, so we never have all the desks filled. But, that’s it, our little workshop! It’s been quiet lately.” She led Credence back to the couch, a little worried that he hadn’t spoken again. Shockingly enough, he was wearing full layers, jacket included, and he kept his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. “Anyway, just make yourself at home.”

He seated himself back on the couch while Queenie returned to her desk. He was still on high alert. Only a few more minutes passed before the studio door whisked open and you entered, carrying a multitude of bags and a to-go drink in each hand.

“Morning, Queens,” you said. “One chai?”

“Absolutely! Thank you!”

You we so focused on handing off the hot drink and sorting your bags at your station that you didn’t notice Credence sinking down into the couch behind you. Queenie cleared her throat to grab your attention. Looking up at her, you mouthed, 'what?’–then whirled around to where she was directing her eyes.

“Credence,” you said, letting a bag slide from your shoulder to the floor. “You’re here.”

“You said… it’s okay, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Of course,” you assured. “I’m–I have to help Queenie out today, but just let me know if you need anything and I can–”

“Oh, you know what, hon?” Queenie said, gasping and animatedly slapping a hand over her mouth. “I completely forgot I was meeting Tina for lunch today.”

“Queenie, what–?”

“I’m so, so sorry! Can I get a rain check?” She gave you a wink and a grin.

“Sure, um, tomorrow I guess?” you muttered.

“Yeah, I’ll text you later with a time.” She scooped up her purse and practically pranced to the door. She looked at Credence a final time. “It was nice meeting you!”

The Dangerous One called out -no it wasn’t she’s lying you’re a wretch no one wants to know you-

She was out the door before either of them could question further and you stared over at Credence. He softly said, “She isn’t meeting anyone, is she?” -no she was just waiting for an excuse to dump you on someone else-

“Nope,” you said without elaborating. You flopped on the opposite end of the couch, groaning when you noticed Queenie’s chai still sitting on her desk, untouched. You stood again, walking over and swiping the drink. “You like chai?”

“I’ve… never had it,” Credence said. You handed the drink over to him. He hesitated before drawing his hands from his pockets and accepting the cup.

“It’s hot,” you said. “So maybe not the best choice for a day like today. But, we usually don’t get around to drinking our coffees until they’re cold anyway.” You sipped your matcha, watching Credence closely as he took a tentative taste of his.

“It’s good,” he said, taking a bigger drink. “Really good.”

“Good,” you said, smiling. “Aren’t you dying in that jacket, though? You can get comfortable.”

He was focused on the spiced sweetness of the drink, letting it slide deliciously down his throat. The heat of the cup felt nice on his swollen, battered hands, and he could feel the ache of the belt marks easing a little. He took another drink, relaxing as the pain in his fingers ebbed away. With a sigh, his eyes came up to meet yours and… oh no, you looked like you were waiting for him to speak. He’d drifted off and he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Sorry, did you… say something?” he asked as casually as possible.

“Just asked if you wanted to take your jacket off,” you said.

-take it all off she’s going to fuck you next- the Dangerous One jeered. -and you won’t even complain, whorewhorewhore-

“No,” he said too quickly. His face burned. He hated having his thoughts shuffled through, his insecurities thrown out in front of him. His grip on his drink tightened enough that the paper cup dented.

“Suit yourself,” you said. He didn’t seem to register the concern on your face when his fingers clenched the cup. You assumed his arms were marred like his hands, that he wanted to keep them hidden. You didn’t press the issue further. You sipped again and had a thought. “Hmm! Did I introduce myself?”

“No, but she told me your name.”

“Oh, okay, good.” You set your drink on the floor and shifted toward him. “I wasn’t expecting you to come, definitely not this quickly. Is everything okay–relatively speaking, of course?”

“Ma went out of town with Brother Gellert. She’ll be gone until later,” he stated. “I just wanted to see…”

“That’s fine,” you insisted. “I’m glad you did. If you ever need to come here, feel free. Technically the building is only open from six in the morning 'til ten at night, but we pull all-nighters here all the time. The doors are hardly ever locked when classes are in session.”

Credence was silent, a distant look glazed over his eyes. You gave him a moment to compose his thoughts and he finally said, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why on earth not?” you asked.

“I inconvenienced you and Queenie,” he said. “You had plans and I ruined them.”

“Not at all,” you assured. “She was just giving us space so you could talk to me if you wanted. I’d do the same for her if it were someone she brought here. Did she tell you about how the Safe System works?” He shook his head. “It’s something the university encourages teachers and grad assistants to get involved in. It’s basically a promise to help anyone who is feeling lost or just needs someone to talk to. And, I know you aren’t a student–and I’m not a graduate yet, actually–but I figured an exception could be made.”

He wrung his hands and his eyes darted, unfocused or anything. You’d watched Newt and Queenie go through the Safe System training and you’d already begun the workshops yourself. In it, you were taught to look for warning signs of burn out and over exertion, abuse of any kind, and mental health conditions. During the short one-on-one interaction with Credence, you were seeing an alarming number of signs, as though they were bullet-pointed right in front of you. Apart from the obvious physical abuse he was enduring, he was sluggish and unfocused, slow to respond to questions, and terribly nervous.

“Credence, if you need someone to talk to, there are people here who will listen,” you said. “There are people who want to help you.”

He stared at you in disbelief then away, his gaze twitching up as though he was watching something from the corner of his eye. He muttered, “You can’t help me.”

“Why not?”

“I hear things,” he said suddenly. “Things that other people can’t. Ma used to say it was the devil, that I attracted him to me through my… wickedness.” He shuddered over the word. “But, I just don’t know. No one’s ever been able to pull it out of me.”

“Pull it out how?” you asked.

“Praying at first,” he said. “Then by striking to force it out, then by trying to starve it out, then…”

“You don’t have to keep going if it’s upsetting,” you said gently.

“Then Brother Gellert came,” Credence continued, as though he hadn’t heard you. “I didn’t hear things when I was younger. It only started a few years ago when… I began thinking about things I shouldn’t have.” His head dropped shamefully. “So, they thought if I was saved again, baptized again, it might wash it away. The river was cold, though, and I couldn’t breathe, and he just held me under for so long that I… I…”

“Credence,” you said, a little forcefully. His head snapped up, the whites of his eyes looking terribly red. “Slowly. It’s okay. I want to hear everything, but please take it slowly.”

He nodded. “I pretended not to hear anything after that, so it looked like it worked. They haven’t taken me back to the river again, but Ma still takes the belt to me if she thinks the devil might be trying to take me back.”

“Credence, you know it isn’t a devil, right?” you asked softly. He didn’t reply, only glanced off to the side. “Are you hearing something now?”

His eyes swept up to you and there was something deeply hopeful hidden in them. “Can you hear it?”

Your heart ached. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

He recoiled back into himself, even as the Dangerous one hissed, -she’s going to take you to the river you’re going to drown this time freakfreakfreak she knows you’re a freak now-

“Credence–”

“What are you thinking?” he gasped.

“I… what?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said shakily. “Tell me it’s wrong. No one ever tells me, so I’ve never known if it was telling the truth. Tell me it’s lying… please…”

“I’m thinking…” You chewed your lip. You were thinking that you wanted to hug him, truthfully, but you didn’t know if contact was wise. He seemed to be dancing on the edge of a breakdown. But, he’d be lied to enough, invalidated and cast aside. For better of worse, you told the truth. “I’m thinking I really want to hug you.”

His mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes were focused intently on you now. “Would you?”

“If you wanted me to,” you replied.

-she’s lying you’re filthy no one wants to touch you-

“Please,” he whispered, his hand extending towards you. “It won’t shut up, please.”

You wordlessly stood and closed the distance between you. From his seated position, the embrace pressed his head into your ribcage. His leaned in, trembling and tugging at the hem of your shirt in search of an anchor point.

“It okay now,” you said. “Whatever it’s saying, it’s wrong. It’s always been wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, part three. I wanted to see if I was making it clear exactly what going on with Credence. The idea is that he’s a schizophrenic whose condition has been mistaken for a possession. Naturally, Mary Lou doesn’t believe in mental illness.


	4. ...a warm embrace

You’d found a comfortable seat on the couch, and he had rested against you. You’d hugged him in silence for the longest time, petting his hair and rubbing your hands in circles on his back. He’d apologized quickly for not speaking, for forcing the quiet upon you, but you had assured him that you didn’t mind it.

He had startled back to reality when he realized that he’d spent too much time away and seemed horribly sad that he had to leave. And, just like that, he had run away, back to his home to await his sisters.

You feared he wouldn’t come back after that.

But, you felt more confident that you’d be able to make a case to the proper authorities after discovering that he experienced auditory hallucinations and had not been allowed any sort of therapy for it. Tracing the beginning of the condition back to his teenage years, that would mean he had suffered the abuse and neglect as a minor. That would surely be enough to incriminate Mary Barebone.

For good measure, you researched your state laws a bit, coming to a roadblock when all sources stated that the abuse must have been aimed at the children in question, the ones in need of protection. Credence had said that the girls hadn’t been physically abused yet, so the best you could hope for would be assault charges for the damage done to him.

It wasn’t good enough.

You were frustrated and stormed out of the studio, bound for home.

———–

The following day, you left your name with Child Protective Services. It seemed you would have to jump through hoops to even speak to anyone since you didn’t actually know much about Credence’s sisters aside from their names, but you were given the name of a representative named Percival Graves who would supposedly be contacting you.

You cursed it, considered calling Theseus again for advice but decided against it. It was something out of his jurisdiction and he’d already given you information. You made your morning coffee stop, ordering your matcha latte and Queenie’s chai. You had a workshop together and you traditionally brought drinks on your way in. At the pick-up window, you had an inkling to order a second chai, maybe a little too hopeful for another meeting. But, you thought, at least Tina also liked chai lattes and you could say it was for her if nothing else.

To your great surprise, Credence was in the studio when you arrived.

He was sitting in the floor, his back pressed against the couch, and he was staring at the door when you entered. Honestly, you couldn’t remeber the last time you’d been so happy to see someone.

“Good morning!” you said cheerfully. “Has Queenie been in yet?”

“No,” he said, slinking up to sit on the couch.

“Guess she’s running late,” you said. “Have you been here long?”

“What time is it?” he asked blearily.

“Nine.”

“Then yes.” You didn’t ask what time he had arrived, but he supplied, “Ma works at a bookstore some days.”

“Oh, so how long do you have?”

“Until around three. She always makes it back by four to meet Chastity and Modesty at the bus, sometimes a bit earlier.”

“Oh, then you have plenty of time!” You held out the extra chai to him, smiling. “I hope you weren’t just saying you liked the chai out of courtesy ‘cause, well… here.”

He stared up at you as though you were handing him treasure, and said, “I shouldn’t take Queenie’s drink again.”

“No, no, I got her one too,” you insisted. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I hoped you’d be back, so… it’s a 'just in case’ chai.”

He took it from you gingerly, afraid that the cup was a mirage and the smallest touch would make it fade away. His mouth opened slightly and let out only an shaky exhale and he glanced away from you. After a moment, he managed, “Thank you.” Then, thinking on your previous statement, he added, “I wasn’t lying. I did like it.”

You grinned. “Oh, good! I can bring one for you from now on if you’d like. I’m always the coffee carrier since I’m the only non-grad.”

“I won’t always be here,” he warned.

“Queenie won’t mind having two,” you assured. “Or, if her sister is here, she also likes chai.”

“Tina,” Credence recalled.

“Yup,” you nodded. “She’s not as… bubbly as Queenie, but she’s very nice. I’m sure you’ll like her.”

He had trouble wrapping his head around not only meeting new people but them–maybe, just maybe–wanting to meet him. He sipped his drink, careful not to burn his tongue, and melted into the feeling of warmth on his hands again. He didn’t dissolve completely into the sensation though, and you took notice.

“You seem more clear today,” you said, sitting at you desk and swiveling the chair around to face him.

“It’s quieter,” he said simply. “Some days are. Yesterday was… especially bad. But, I think talking to you helped a little. No one’s… ever really listened.”

“I’m glad I could help, even just a bit,” you said. “Anyway, are you okay with the quiet or would you like me to play some music? Queenie and I will be in class at ten, so it may get a little lonely in here.”

He wanted to request music, but he knew very few songs outside of hymns and was at a loss of what to even ask for. Instead, he said, “The quiet is fine.”

“Do you like to read or anything? I’m sure we have a few books laying around that might be interesting.”

“I’m used to just… thinking a lot.”

“Like daydreaming?”

Daydreaming, he wondered. Was that what his getting lost in thought was? If so, it wasn’t that he particularly liked doing it, it just happened. Given the chance, he would read. Or, if he was spending the day at the church, he’d practice piano.

“Credence?”

He snapped to attention, realizing he’d lost himself again. “I like reading. And music.”

“Oh,” you said. “You sure you don’t want to listen to something then?”

“I only know, um, hymns.” He corrected, “Mostly. I hear other things sometimes, but only in passing.”

“Well, do you like hymns?” you asked. “I can find a Pandora station.” He was obviously perplexed. “It’s an online radio. You pick what sort of music you want to listen to and it creates a radio station for you.”

“No, that’s… I think I’d rather hear new things.”

You shuffled around a drawer in your desk and pulled out a banged up iPod and a pair of earbuds. “I have a lot of different music, if you’d like to listen.” He nodded and you plugged a wireless speaker into the aux port. “If you want to pull a chair up, you can shuffle through the songs if you don’t like them.”

He stood but didn’t know which chair to grab. The closest was Newt’s but he felt a strange jealousy about anything related to the man. It was that chair that you reached for, however, and the sick feeling subsided a little when the chair was moved over to your desk.

“Newt won’t be coming in any time soon,” you said, patting the seat.

“Queenie said he’s in Africa,” Credence said, creeping up and daring to sit.

“That’s right.” You selected an instrumental-only playlist, worried that songs with lyrics might be overwhelming enough to cause a sensory overload, especially while you were talking to him on top of it. You shuffled to a random song and it filtered out quietly through the speaker. It was a violin cover of a popular tune. “He’s at a nature reserve. One of their lions had a leucistic cub–that means it was born with white fur. It’s very rare, so Newt jumped at the chance to photograph it.”

Credence regarded the aforementioned photographer’s works hanging over his desk. They were almost all in greyscale. He said, “Will it really matter, taking pictures of it? In black and white, it won’t look that different, will it?”

“He’ll probably shoot in color for that very reason.” You grumbled, “Meaning, I’ll be stuck in the dark room. Damn it, I didn’t even think about that.” Credence’s brows raised in question. “He doesn’t trust his eye with color photography often, so I end up helping develop so the colors turn out right.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Oh, right.” He didn’t know, obviously. “Newt’s colorblind.”

“Really?” Credence gasped, looking back at the photos on the wall. The lack of color made sense, in that case.

“Yup, he can only really see blue and yellow.” An idea popped into your mind. “Oh, the lion cub’s eyes are probably blue. He may just focus in on that and block out the rest of the color… oh, that would be gorgeous. Maybe set it against a bright skyline.” You laughed. “Sorry, I’m pretty excited to see what he’s got planned.”

The light in your eyes as you spoke of Newt and his work betrayed something deeper, even though Queenie had denied that sort of connection between you.

“Why don’t you like for people to know you’re dating?"Credence asked suddenly, unable to keep the question from gnawing its way out. You sputtered a bit and kicked back in your chair.

"That,” you said, your voice clipped, “is a loaded question. And we aren’t dating.”

Credence flinched at your tone. “Are you angry?”

“Not at you,” you sighed. “I know what it must look like, but we’re… I’m his best friend. That’s all he needs from me.”

“But you like him.”

You chewed on that for a moment before saying, “No, I love him.” Credence’s heart quivered at that. “But, don’t misunderstand. I love him in the way he wants to be loved and I’m happy with that. I’m sure you’ve heard of people who are gay and straight, right? Well, there are lots of other types of people–romantic or non-romantic, sexual or not. Newt is non-romantic and non-sexual, meaning he doesn’t want to date anyone or have sex with anyone.”

“Is that… normal?” Credence asked hesitantly. The ideas you had just introduced to him were overwhelming. His Ma had always told him that lust and fornication were horrible sins, but that did little to stop him from thinking dirty thoughts or touching himself. And, he’d experienced public school as a teenager long enough to know that sin or no, people still experienced and acted upon those desires. However, he was feeling self-conscious now–had his idea of 'normal’ actually been skewed?

“I hesitate to call anything 'normal’ just because it makes people feel bad,” you prefaced. “But, no, it’s not… common.” Credence couldn’t help but feel a swell of relief. “So, maybe I should say this–would I date him? Sure, I guess. But, thinking in hypotheticals doesn’t do anybody any good. He wants a friend, so I’m his friend. Does that make sense?”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“Not at all,” you said. “And I’m perfectly free to date if I want–and I have. And it’s not like he doesn’t… no I shouldn’t say that, that would just be confusing. I just… man, I wish he was here. He’s so much better at explaining it.”

“I’m sorry I asked,” Credence said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said. “I’m sure seeing the pictures of us is confusing, too. He’s actually very affectionate, but it’s only in a friendly way. Like me hugging you yesterday–”

You instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say. Credence’s eyes widened to saucer size, his jaw clenched tight like he’d been struck.

“Credence, I didn’t mean…”

“Please don’t,” he whispered, dipping his head in embarrassment. The hug had been the most intimate gesture anyone had shown him for as long as he could remember, and relaxing in your embrace for so long had feel so right… If that was the type of friendship you offered, he was more than happy to accept it, but that deep, aching, lusting part of him had hoped that it was a sign of a deeper attraction. “I’m not being fair.”

“You’re hurting,” you said, “and you want someone to help you. I’m won’t be offended if you’re attracted to me, but you don’t have to settle for the first person who’s nice to you.” You reached out, touching his shoulder gently. “Trust me. Newt actually tried that and he got hurt terribly because of it.”

“How could he try the same thing?” Credence asked, unable to keep a skeptical bite out of his words.

“He tried to date someone because she was the first person to say she understood him,” you said. “They had a lot in common and Newt said that they could kind of… meet half way. He could think of her as a friend but still be affectionate with her, and she could say they were dating as long as she didn’t push him too far. But, she forced him to do a lot of things he didn’t want to, and he just went along with it because he didn’t think he’d find anyone that actually understood.

"Just give yourself time. If you tried to start a romantic relationship now, I’m afraid you’d walk into something you’d regret later, something you couldn’t get out of because you’d feel like you owed something.”

Credence stared under thick, dark lashes. “But I liked when you hugged me. I don’t regret letting you do it.”

“Hugging is one thing,” you said. “People like being touched, usually. It’s comforting, and hugging is simple. There’s not a lot about it to regret. But, a relationship is a whole 'nother beast. Emotions get tangled into it and physical boundaries are pushed and pulled and tested. It gets messy, you get hurt, even when it’s good. You don’t need that sort of headache, not until you’re in a safer place.”

“You’re safe,” he said, almost inaudibly. “You’re safe for Newt.”

“I can be safe for you, too,” you said, taking his hands in your. The raised edges of crusted cuts roughed your palms, but you squeezed gently to act as an anchor. “But, just let me be safe in small ways, okay? If you’re attracted to me, that’s fine. That’s not something you can control. Just don’t get disappointed if nothing comes of it.”

You didn’t dare tell him that he was attractive, that you still thought of him singing in the back room of the church. You didn’t dare tell him that you could easily imagine yourself kissing him softly and embracing him and gently counting the scars that no doubt ran up his arms. He was flirting with the idea of you, and giving into that even slightly would tip the scales unequally in your favor. You were the experienced one here. You refused to put him in that situation.

“Will you hold me?” he whispered, his fingers trembling in yours.

“If it helps,” you said. “If it makes you feel better. But, it shouldn’t go any further than that, okay?”

“Okay.” He hesitated a moment then asked, “Could you… would you do it… now?” He was beginning to hear a scratching noise that was breaking his concentration. He wanted to press his ear against your ribs again, hear your heartbeat, focus on it until the clawing disappeared.

“Now?” Your eyes unconsciously found the clock on the wall. Enough time had passed without Queenie stopping by that you assumed she had gone straight to class, and you’d have to go to your workshop soon, too.

Credence seemed to remember that you had other obligations, and he whispered, “I’m sorry, forget I asked.”

Your instincts told you that if you didn’t reach out to him, he’d flee. If you went to your workshop, he’d be gone when you returned and he might not be brave enough to come back. You released his hands only long enough to grab your phone.

“Let me just let Queenie know where I am so no one will come looking for me.”

He protested weakly as you opened the message screen to Queenie and texted, -Have a situation in the studio. Credence from yesterday is here and I can’t leave him. Tell prof I’m sick and avoid studio for now please-

She almost instantly sent back, -safe?-

-Fine,- you said. -Just needs someone to talk to.-

-k-

You held onto your phone but stood, walking over to the couch. “I’m skipping class, but it’s not a big deal, okay?”

“You don’t have to… that’s…” He watched as you sat and gestured for him to come over. Wordlessly he followed, feeling simultaneously horrible for convincing you to miss class and elated that you’d agreed to hold him again. He joined you on the couch, wilting into your open arms.


	5. ...a hard reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look at the development of the relationship between Newt and our Reader, giving some insight on why you don't say that they're dating. Period.
> 
> Nothing terribly graphic, but a warning is still necessary for Leta being a taker and an abuser and an all-around nasty person. Aroace erasure.

_Newton Scamander was perhaps to oddest person you'd ever met. He began making appearances in your photography workshop as an assistant instructor halfway into your first semester--travel abroad had landed him back on campus late into the semester, but he worked hard to catch up. Honestly, you were a disaster at photography and had only taken the class to cover the prerequisite requirements, but his presence had brought a whole new life to the subject._  
  
 _He seemed cheerful but also thrown together, lacking a filter--oh and, of course, very, very British. And not exactly the attractive, exotic heartthrob type of British, either. Rather, he was the incredibly ginger, freckled-all-over, lanky and awkward type. God knew why, but he wore bowties and vests and button-down shirts, and you'd think he was very much a hipster if you thought he possessed a single 'hip' bone in his body._  
  
 _He was--borrowing his own phrasing--shite with paint in any variety but blue and yellow--colorblindness he'd explained. But, he put in 150% into anything that he attempted, which landed him a second workshop with you in your following semester, working with a more comfortable, traditional media. The two of you hit it off in that class, often acting as the other's sounding board. When he did try his hand at painting, you grew into the habit of mixing his pigments and helping him with placement. Frequently, you scolded him about "putting this color with that color" and "please, please just use this--they contrast so much better" and "what the hell did you do? everything on this palette is brown!"_  
  
 _Eventually, you strayed long after workshop was over, discussing your projects with him. Then, conversation moved to his projects. Then, thoughts of how the two of you could collaborate were discussed--he loved several of your works centered around animals and would love to see more--he could even provide photos for reference if you'd paint them. Then, you stayed after because you were bored and why the hell not? Then, because he'd heard of a great Indian restaurant and no one had agreed to go with him. Then, because said restaurant was delicious it became a frequent haunt for the two of you._  
  
 _By the beginning of third semester, you had become fast friends. It was also during that semester that his entanglement with Leta Lestrange began._  
  
 _\---------_  
  
 _Leta was perplexing, not so much on her own but because of her relationship with Newt. On top of everything else, Newt had never hidden the fact that he was asexual and, at the absolute most, demiromantic. And so, when Leta began creeping into the Fine Arts Department to spend time with Newt--she was also deeply invested in Zoology, and more commonly stayed in that Department--it raised many suspicions. When she began referring to herself as Newt's girlfriend, it downright raised red flags with you._  
  
 _"It's fine," Newt assured. "We have something of an agreement."_  
  
 _"What sort of agreement?" you questioned._  
  
 _"We're just friends," he said. "I've told her about my orientation and she's been putting in a great effort to understand it. It's easier for her to say we're dating, I suppose."_  
  
 _"But why entertain the illusion?"_  
  
 _"It's not harming anything," Newt said easily._  
  
 _He changed his tune quite quickly when Leta started trying to catch him for kisses. He'd avoided the contact--holding hands is fine, he'd told her, or hugging, or kissing on the cheek maybe, but please, no, not on the lips, it's so strange. She pouted and pushed._  
  
 _"If you just let me do it, you'd get used to it, Newton," she said. "Beside, you already do all those little things with... oh, what's her name even?"  She referred to you and Newt knew it, knew how much she disliked you since the first time she'd caught you and him sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch in the graduate studio._  
  
 _"We're friends, Leta," Newt argued. "And you and I are friends too, if you'll remember."_  
  
 _"Yes," she huffed, "but, you said you and I could be closer friends, that we could make something like a relationship out of it."_  
  
 _"I'm already spending a considerable amount more time with you," Newt said. "That's... the best I can do, honestly. You know that."_  
  
 _"You took her as your plus one to your brother's wedding, Newton!" He recoiled at that. True, he had, but you had also met Theseus before whereas Leta had not. "I know how difficult you have it, but can't you at least try a little bit? A compromise? For me?"_  
  
 _He felt a sort of obligation, felt preemptively responsible for any heartache he might cause her. So he stayed. And, he tried._  
  
 _And, it was horrible._  
  
 _"So, just dump her," you said over a plate of saag paneer. Newt was too distracted to really think of eating, so you scooped up a bit of the entree with a piece of naan and offered it over to him._  
  
 _He had gotten used to the gesture of being fed by you--he'd often be so caught up in a project that he'd push aside his hunger until the task was completed, but he'd never refuse if you happened to pass him a bite of your sandwich or something. Now, he unconsciously took the bite you had offered him, but he felt a pang of guilt at just how comfortable he was--being fed by someone was often coded as an intimate gesture, after all._  
  
 _"How does one go about breaking up with someone they never agreed to date in the first place, hmm?" Newt shot back._  
  
 _"Maybe just try saying, 'Look, you know we aren't dating so stop trying to make it happen.'," you offered._  
  
 _"Yes, that will go swimmingly," Newt groaned. "I just--it wasn't so bad at first, and I thought it would be okay. She was affectionate but it wasn't over the top and it was fine. Because you know--you know me--I kind of like that sort of thing sometimes. The hugging anyway."_  
  
 _"You are a hugger," you agreed. "Trust me, I know."_  
  
 _"Oh, and that's a problem, too, y'know." He gestured between the two of you. "This--us. It's a problem. She doesn't like it."_  
  
 _"Oh, I'm well aware."_  
  
 _"But anyway the kissing thing--always with the kissing thing." Newt pulled a face that was something between confusion and anger. "And she insists on sleeping over and she just... more with the kissing. And, it's rubbish. "_  
  
 _"Yes," you said, "so dump her."_  
  
 _"I can't."_  
  
 _"I'll dump her for you." He laughed at that. "No, no, listen, just tell her you fell for my feminine wiles and you couldn't possibly consider her again. I mean, is there anything hotter than a girl smelling of turpentine? I think not."_  
  
 _"Oh, is that what I'm supposed to be attracted to?" Newt chuckled, his grin impossibly wide._  
  
 _"Without a doubt."_  
  
 _\-------_  
  
 _He didn't break it off with Leta, much to your disappointment. She began turning up in the studio more often, as though she thought clinging close to Newt would make him warm up to her advances faster. With every forced embraced and kiss and brush of her hand on his thigh, you felt at least a sick as Newt looked._  
  
 _\--------_  
  
 _The Christmas between your third and fourth semesters, Newt positively enraged Leta by inviting you home to London instead of her. You had high hopes that it would be enough to run her off, but she was more stubborn than you thought, and it seemed to make her pursue Newt even more aggressively. You'd seen behavior like it before, acting out of jealousy. Part of you felt sure that Leta didn't even care for him anymore, that she was just trying to make her mark to prove a point._  
  
 _You warned Newt to end it, please just end it, before it got too out of hand. But, it was also around that time that he began questioning himself. If Leta hadn't understood, who was to say that anyone would? He was terrified of being alone, actually, and he wondered if it would just be for the best if he suffered through the unsavory physical aspects for the sake of companionship._  
  
 _\-------_  
  
 _As your fourth semester began, your apartment underwent some hefty renovations, displacing you temporarily. Newt lived alone and had a spare room, and so of course he offered you lodging. Several days in, it seemed to be a wonderful arrangement, one that the two of you seriously discussed prolonging into permanence if it continued as comfortably._  
  
 _A week in, maybe two, there had been an awful night. You stayed up late fleshing out a theme for your semester portfolio. Hitting a roadblock, you stalked out to the kitchen for a late snack. The apartment was quiet, and Newt's door was closed, either signaling that he was sleeping or to keep his bird's chattering as quiet as possible or both._  
  
 _As you neared the living area, you could hear heavy breathing, shuffling of clothes, and quiet, desperate, "Please, stop, just stop--"_  
  
 _"Or what, Newton--"_  
  
 _"Lower your voice," he hissed._  
  
 _"What, you don't want me to wake your side piece?" The other voice was undoubtedly Leta's and you wondered when she had even come in._  
  
 _"It's not like that, it's--stop, Leta, serious--ly--" Newt's words hitched with a gasp._  
  
 _"You gonna kick me out if I don't? After I came all this way to see you?"_  
  
 _"I want to end this," Newt said forcefully. "This is out of hand a-and--"_  
  
 _"And what?" Another gasp from Newt. "You're hard. Don't pretend you don't want it."_  
  
 _"I don't, please--stop--"_  
  
 _You rounded the corner and it took every ounce of strength you had to not fly off the handle. Leta had Newt backed into the doorway leading into the kitchen, her hand stuffed down the front of his pajama pants. Newt practically convulsed against the wall, arms held up in an attempt to push her back without exerting any actual force--too gentle, he was far too gentle in his refusal to harm her, to force her away._  
  
 _You had no such reservations, however, and you rushed up and gave her a rough shove, sending her toppling sideways. She shouted in offense and Newt let out a startled gasp. When Leta regained her balance, you had placed yourself firmly in front of Newt._  
  
 _"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you growled out, never so angry before in your life._  
  
 _"Mind your own business," Leta snapped. "Newton's the one that told me to come over."_  
  
 _"I was going to end it," he said shakily. "It's over. This is over."_  
  
 _"Just like that?" Leta said. "Are you kidding me?"_  
  
 _Newt said nothing for a moment, then, "Please leave."_  
  
 _Leta panted angrily, filling the silence of the room. "Fine," she said finally. Her hand came up before you could react, striking you hard across the cheek. Your head snapped sideways, but you didn't react aside from that, wouldn't give her the pleasure. Newt jerked forward, a choked sound hanging in his throat, but you held a hand up to stop him from moving out from behind you, away from safety._  
  
 _Leta scoffed, "You can have him then. Hope you're ready to be fucking disappointed." She ripped her discarded coat up from the couch and stormed out, slamming the door._  
  
 _You waited for the sound of her engine starting, tire squealing and pealing out before you turned to check on Newt. The sight of the redness on your cheek shattered him and he crumpled down the wall, drawing his knees close. "I'm--"_  
  
 _"Do not," you interrupted, "say that you're sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for." Tears welled in his eyes and when the dam broke, releasing them hot and furious down his cheeks, you gathered him into an embrace._  
  
 _"But, I am sorry--so--so sorry--"_  
  
 _"It's not your fault," you said._  
  
 _"What's wrong with me?" he cried. "Why--why am I like this? Why couldn't I just--"_  
  
 _"Newt."_  
  
 _"Why couldn't I just--just--pretend I liked it?"_  
  
 _"Newt, stop."_  
  
 _"I'm going to have no one," he whimpered. "And it's going to be my own bloody fault--"_  
  
 _"You have me," you said with conviction. He lifted his head, eyes horribly red and marred with tears. "You have me and I'm not going anywhere."_  
  
 _He slept in the guestroom with you that night, cocooned in blankets. You laid on top the the covers, wanting to keep a barrier between the two of you--especially after what had just happened. But, he seemed more than happy to press close to you, his head tucked under your chin. He cried his throat sore and fell into an exhausted sleep._  
  
 _The next day, you cancelled your lease._


	6. ..a new friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for mentions of past attempted suicide.

The call from Percival Graves came on a Friday afternoon, smack in the middle of class. You excused yourself, answered, and were met with a barrage of questions. 

How many children are involved? What are their ages? What is the nature of the abuse you're reporting? How long has it been occurring? 

You honestly weren't prepared to answer the majority of the questions, and Graves seemed quite put out by it. "Ma'am, do you have any proof to back your allegations?"

"I... look, I don't know that anything has actually happened to the girls," you admitted. "But, if it hasn't, it's because their older brother has taken the brunt of it."

"And their brother is of age?" 

"Yes."

"Has he attempted to file for guardianship of his sisters?" Graves asked.

"I doubt it," you said. "He's been effectively isolated from resources. He doesn't have the means to support them." You gathered a breath. "I think I can help him get out of the situation, but he's afraid his sisters will receive the bad end of it if he runs. If there's any way to check in on them, even, it should be fine. I doubt their mother would start anything with the girls if she knew she was being watched."

"We take all reports very seriously," Graves said. "We'll definitely be checking in."

"Thank you, sir." 

He said a few closing words about gathering paperwork together and finally told you he'd be contacting you.

\---------

The next day passed by slowly, a dull Saturday. You hadn't seen Credence since Thursday morning and it made you very anxious. Though you knew a few missed days probably meant nothing, likely meant that his mother didn't have other obligations those days and he couldn't sneak away, you couldn't help but worry.

You decided to make a move, planning to attend the Sunday morning service. You'd feel better if you could at least see Credence and making an appearance would keep up the facade that you were interested in the church.

The sanctuary was bustling with people in their Sunday best packed into the pews like sardines. You found a seat between a woman around your age and a bearded, middle-aged man. Thankfully, neither of them were chatty like the nasty woman you'd spoken with at the previous service, and you were able to scan the sanctuary in peace.

Credence was present this time, sitting in the front row with a small girl beside him--his youngest sister, Modesty. Chastity was at the piano this time and Mary Barebone was scurrying around behind the pulpit.

The service dragged on, but at the end of it you were feeling a bit better. Credence was visible and that was enough. When the end came and people began filing out, you waited around long enough catch Credence's eye, flashing him a smile. He returned it shyly then averted his eyes down to Modesty, who had been talking to him. Satisfied, you exited with the crowd.

\-------

Monday morning came entirely too quickly. You were becoming swamped with projects and time spent working at home was never quite as productive for you as in the studio. You arrived early, carrying pastries and a couple of coffees from Kowalski's--a bakery owned by Queenie's boyfriend--and were pleased to see Credence in the studio. 

He was fiddling with things on your desk, earbuds placed and connected to your iPod. With your hands full, you knocked the side of your foot against a trash can to alert him to your presence. He spun away from it quickly when you entered, yanking the earbuds out. "You're early," he said hurriedly. Glancing back at your desk, he said, "Sorry, I was... just..."

You had several mannequins sitting atop your desk--all ball-jointed and posable for modeling--and Credence had been playing with the poses. You smiled. "No harm done. Find any good songs?"

"Yes," he said. "I like this playlist--ah, one called 'Focus'." It featured mostly instrumental songs and was your go-to when you were painting. Credence jumped up from your seat, ready to offer it to you, but you plopped down on the couch instead. “I saw you yesterday at church.”

“I wanted to check on you, since we hadn’t seen each other since Thursday,” you explained. “I’ll keep coming to services, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. You… you don’t have to check on me, though, I’m…” He wanted to say ‘fine’ though he knew it wasn’t true. He stayed quiet, and was thankful when you changed the subject.

You held up the coffee cups. "I brought plain coffee today. There's sugar and half 'n half by the fridge if you want it." 

It took him a moment to join you on the couch, but he graciously took the coffee. "It's fine. I can drink it black."

You dropped the bag of pastries between you. "Queenie's boyfriend has a bakery in town. I got first dibbs on apple turnovers, so they're still warm." You took a pastry from the bag and bit crisply into the crust. Credence followed suit, looking almost relieved as he chewed. He ate quietly, his shoulders drawn in tightly. Something about him was withdrawn and he looked exhausted and it worried you.

"Is everything okay?" you asked. He didn't make eye contact but shook his head slightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"They're very loud today," he said simply.

"Did it help to listen to music at all?"

He nodded. "I could still hear them, but... If I hear them clearly over the music, it means that it's just in my head, right?"

"Makes sense," you said. The iPod was still on your desk and you left the couch to retrieve it and bring it back. Handing it to Credence, you said, "Here. I'll be working today, so I won't be very good company."

"Do I need to leave?" Credence asked, his expression guilty.

"No, you won't bother me," you assured. "Do you have until three again?" He nodded. "I'll keep an eye on the time today, so just relax, okay?"

While you gather your supplies together, he stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Before you could even start painting, he had fallen asleep. The worry-lines in his face smoothed and you allowed yourself a moment to study the sharp angles of his bone structure, marveling at the beauty of him. Though you had other projects to work on, you were struck with inspiration to sketch his sleeping figure. You refrained, unsure of how he would react to something like that, but the nagging feeling didn't disappear.

Thinking ahead, you placed a sign on the door outside--"Please enter quietly"--and set your focus on works that were decidedly less interesting than your sleeping friend.

\-------------

Credence slept for several hours. He'd snoozed through Queenie and Tina stopping in, through one of your professors knocking and speaking with you at the door about one of your deadlines. He woke only when you took a cautious seat on the couch beside him. You cracked a book and had begun reading when he wriggled closer, the top of his head barely grazing your leg.

You glanced down, petting his hair lightly and his expression melted into a very content smile. "Did you sleep well?"

He removed the earbuds to hear you better and you repeated the question. He nodded slowly. Your hand traced down his temple, resting on his cheek. His skin felt very hot against yours.

"Are you feeling okay?" you asked worriedly. 

"Little hot," he said sleepily. He was wearing the layers he typically wore, a jacket over a tee-shirt, and you wouldn't be surprised if the tee was long-sleeved. The studio was a bit warmer than usual, too.

"You can take your jacket off," you offered. 

He sat up, stretched until his shoulders cracked, and shook his head in refusal. "I'd rather not."

You held your hand out to him and he hesitated before resting his hand in yours, palm-to-palm. His hand was marred with cuts that were in varying stages of healing. His knuckles were bruised and scraped. You worried your thumb over some of the older marks. "Is it because of these?"

"There are a lot of them," he said heavily.

You stood and stepped in front of him, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hooking your thumbs under the material of his jacket. "I won't say anything. Trust me?"

His expression was fearful, conflicted. It slowly softened and his head fell, breaking eye contact. He acted out his approval by shrugging his shoulders and you helped him push the jacket off. He ducked his arms out of the sleeves--he was actually wearing a short-sleeved shirt underneath, much to your surprise--and discarded the jacket to the end of the couch.

The same marks on his hands cut a path up to his elbows, but no further than that. He nervously wrung his hands together, shivering at the sensation of air on his skin as goosebumps ran up his arms. You couldn't help but notice a few marks on the insides of his forearms, old scars that sliced across the thickest flesh close to his elbows. They appeared different from the other marks, cleaner, sharper, and calculated in a way that made your heart hurt.

You smiled gently at him and asked, "Can I hug you?"

He nodded and leaned forward, snugging his head into your ribs. You ruffled his hair, stunned by how soft it was, and when he pulled away the straight line of his bangs had been mussed. It looked considerably better tousled.

"Credence, I wanted to talk to you about something," you said. Quickly, you added, "I don't want you to worry, though, so please..."

He swallowed hard, nervous despite the disclaimer. "Okay?"

"Remember I asked if you would run away if I could get your sisters somewhere safe?"

"Yes."

"You never answered me."

He hesitated. "I... can't. I want to but..."

"What's stopping you?" He didn't answer, didn't really know what to say. "I know you're worried about your sisters, but do you really think they'll become targets if you leave?"

"Maybe not," he said. "Ma always did like them better. But, Modesty has been misbehaving lately, saying things she's not supposed to. Sometimes I think she's doing it on purpose, just to see what Ma will do."

"And what does she do?"

"Hits me for it, usually," he replied, "because Modesty had to get the ideas somewhere. Ma always thinks it's me."

You bit your lip, debating if you should tell him about the report to Mr. Graves. Of course, if CPS suddenly showed up and Credence didn't know about it, he might be blamed for that too. Thinking it best to warn him, you said, "I filed a report for your sisters."

Quietly, he asked, "Did they say anything?"

"The man I spoke to said he would look into it."

Credence hid his face in his hands. "They won't find anything on the girls, and nothing done to me will hold any bearing on them. You know that, right?"

"No, and you don't know that either," you insisted. "If your mother would harm you, it's not unreasonable to think that she'd do it to them. It's the best shot we have."

"If they come... when they come... Ma will think it was me that told them."

"Then run away before she has the chance to do anything about it," you said. "If CPS is breathing down her neck, she's not going to lay a hand of Chastity or Modesty, and you can stay with me if you need a safe place."

"Ma will tell them I'm disturbed," Credence murmured. "That I'm dangerous. They'll come for me and lock me up. That's what..." 

"What?"

"That's what Brother Gellert says. That people like me are dangerous. That if I ever left, someone would find me and I'd be locked away and I'd never see Modesty and Chastity again--"

"Credence," you cut, "is that what you're afraid of? You aren't... Honey, you aren't dangerous and you aren't going to be locked up. I absolutely won't let that happen." 

He finally stared up at you, his eyes red and concerned. He took your hands in his, focusing deeply on your knuckles. "I don't know what to do."

"Do whatever you feel safest with," you said. "If you want to stick around until the investigation happens, that's fine, but I think you'd be better off if you left before that."

"Ma will be so angry," he whispered. "And, everything that she's done... it's only because I've done things I shouldn't have."

"Do you really believe that?" you asked. 

"Brother Gellert says it, too. That I'm worthless, that I just take everything Ma gives me, and that I'm ungrateful. And once, I thought that I could make it better by not... being around anymore. But, Brother Gellert stopped me and said that I had a wicked, black soul. That throwing away the life God had given me was a terrible sin, too. That I couldn't be saved."

"Credence, don't go back there," you insisted. "I'll go to the services and pretend to be interested so I can check on Chastity and Modesty, but you... Please, just don't go back there."

"I can't..."

"You haven't done anything wrong. You need help and you need a safe place. For someone to exploit that and call themselves godly for doing so... it just isn't right. I'll keep an eye of the girls and if I see that they've had a hand raised to them, I'll call the police. So, please..."

He shook his head. "I have to go back. If they got hurt instead of me..."

You took a shaky breath, wanting very much to march to the church and punch both Mary Barebone and Gellert Grindelwald square in the noses. But, you knew that confronting them would only makes things worse if Credence wasn't willing to leave with you, and you couldn't bear to think of him getting hurt because of your recklessness.

"Okay," you whispered. "Okay, I understand."

"Can I still come here?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course," you said. "I'm not angry at you, so please don't think it. I want you to feel safe here."

“I do.”

“The agent I spoke with will be in touch with me,” you said. “I’ll tell you before anything happens, okay? And, like I said, if you need somewhere to stay, just tell me. I don’t mind.”

“What about Newt?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about that! He wouldn’t mind at all.” You picked up the iPod. “Would you be able to hide this if you took it with you?”

“Why?” Credence asked.

“It can connect to wi-fi,” you said. “It has messenger on it, so if you ever needed anything, all you’d have to do is find a wi-fi hotspot and send me a message. Unless you have a way to contact me...?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. He’d never been allowed access to electronics devices apart from the one TV in their house and library computers and part of him wondered if it was that way so he wouldn’t be able to make a connection with anyone outside his family. He took the iPod from you and stared at it. You were offering him a lifeline. While he knew what would happen if his mother ever found it, he couldn’t pass it up. 

“I’ll keep it hidden,” he promised.

“Excellent!” You gave him a quick crash course in how to connect to wi-fi and use the messaging system. “You can also use FaceTime, but it drains the battery really quick.”

“FaceTime?” 

“Oh, um, video chat,” you said. “Here, I’ll show you.” You took the iPod back and looked at the time—quarter after one. Meaning, it would be nighttime in South Africa, but not terribly late. You grinned. “Would you like to meet Newt?”

“Meet?” Credence repeated, his voice almost cracking with sudden anxiety.

“Sure,” you chimed. “Long distance. He may not answer, but it’s worth a shot.”

“If… you think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, you were worried about him being upset if you came to our place, right? Would you feel better if you talked to him?”

“Maybe…?” You were already queuing the call, waiting excitedly as the telltale ring filled the silence. After a few rings, the line connected and a jumbled image appeared. The angle rattled as the phone was lifted and Newt’s face appeared upside-down on screen.

“Just a minute—oh, stop it, you! Hello?”

“Everything okay, there?” you laughed. Newt looked more disheveled than usual and he was obviously preoccupied with something. 

“Fine, fine.”

“Turn yourself right-side up, Noodle,” you teased.

“What? Oh!” The screen flipped as he corrected himself. Once he was righted, he held his phone out enough that you could see a white ball of fuzz squirming in his lap.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “Newt, is that—“

“This is Nundu,” he said, lifting the cub into better view. Her eyes were brilliantly blue and she gnawed at Newt’s hand playfully. 

“Why… why do you have her? I thought there were strict ‘no-touch’ policies on the animals there.”

“She’s been abandoned, I’m afraid.”

“Because of her color?”

“No, more than likely she was sired by an interloper. The big male in the pride began isolating her and her mum left her in the bush one night. It’s amazing that she wasn’t just killed by the male.”

“So, the reserve saved her?”

“Yeah, her color is so rare that they couldn’t bear to lose her. She’ll be raised and rehabilitated. They may put her back out when she can fend for herself or she may become and ambassador.” He ruffed the cub’s head and she snarled with as much ferocity as she could. “Or, I may stow her away to America, what d’you think?”

“She’s precious,” you said in awe. You held the iPod over to Credence, gesturing for him to look. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Credence’s eyes widened, amazing, and he nodded firmly.

“Ah, who’s this, then?”

“This is Credence,” you said. “Credence, this is Newt Scamander. He enjoys Indian food, weird animals, and having his surname mispronounced.”

Credence wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh until Newt groaned, “Smalacander is my favorite yet. Second only to Samanlander. Anyway, how’s it there?”

“I was just showing off how to use messenger and FaceTime,” you said. “Credence here is going to be borrowing the iPod for a bit. Also, if he happens to need somewhere to stay, he’s good to crash with us, yeah?” 

Credence nearly jumped from his skin at your suggestion. He’d been worried that Newt would be against the idea, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to just come out and ask. Newt seemed none-too-phased by the question, though.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Oh, but he’s not allergic to cats, is he? You know how Niff likes to sleep on people’s faces. I suppose he could close a door though. Right, Credence? You’re free to my room ‘til I’m back if you’d like. Well, if you don’t mind the bird…”

Newt, bless him, was probably the nicest person you knew and it had Credence’s head spinning. “I figured he could stay in my room,” you said. “I’ll sleep with Frank.” You explained to Credence, “That’s Newt’s bird—he’s this loud old cockatoo—“

“He isn’t that old,” Newt corrected.

“The damn bird is older than I am,” you joked. “He’s old.”

“I… didn’t know birds lived that long,” Credence whispered. 

Newt heard and he gained the most excited expression, like he always did before he unloaded a half a textbook’s-worth of knowledge on somebody. You quickly interrupted, “They can, and Newt will tell you all about it. Later. Not today.”

“You’re no fun,” Newt pouted.

“Anyway, we’ll figure out an arrangement,” you said, sticking your tongue out at your roommate. “Battery’s going to die soon, so we better go.”

“Right, talk to you later, then. I’ll be coming home next week, by the way. Friday. Will you be free or should I have Jacob pick me up?”

“I’ll be able to,” you said. “Have a good night, Newt. Give Nundu extra pets for me.”

“Of course! It was nice meeting you, Credence.”

“You too,” he said awkwardly.

You closed the connection and immediately plugged the iPod into a power cable. “And, that was enough to kill the battery. So, maybe don’t use that very often.” You joined Credence on the couch again. “Well, that’s Newt. See, he’d be more than happy to put you up if you need it.”

“He seems…” Credence’s immediate thought was ‘odd’ but that wasn’t really fair so he settled for, “…nice.” He was that, too, and maybe that’s why he seemed strange to Credence.

“He’s a giant nerd,” you joked. “But, he’s very nice. I’m sure you’ll get along well.”

Credence felt hopeful that you were speaking as though you’d still want him around in a week, when Newt returned. He barely noticed when your phone vibrated in your pocket and you unconsciously checked it. It was a text from Newt reading, ‘Call when alone. Need to talk?’

You returned, ‘Two more hours til alone. Too late?’

‘No,’ he replied and you pocketed your phone again.

“So, you have ‘til three,” you reminded. “Did you want to get lunch or something before you left? I can order take out.”

“I don’t have any money,” Credence said.

“Hmm? Oh, don’t worry about that. Are you hungry?” He nodded. “Do you like pizza? It’s easy enough.”

“Anything is fine, really.”

“Great! You know, someday if you feel comfortable with going out, I’ll take you to Lotus—it’s this great Indian place Newt and I go to all the time.” You keyed in the number for pizza delivery and called. “Pepperoni okay?” 

\---------------

After you ate, Credence saw himself out, promising to return the next day. You immediately called Newt, not wanting to keep him awake too long. He was quick to answer.

“Hey,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Is everything okay there? Really?” The worry in his voice was almost tangible. 

“It’s getting there, I think,” you said. “Credence has been coming to the studio when his mother’s away. I think it’s helping.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Newt asked. “He seems terribly jumpy. Is it just because of what he’s going through at home, or…?”

“He has auditory hallucinations,” you answered. “And, he’s treated horribly at home. I’ve asked him to leave, to just come stay at our place, but he’s worried for his sisters. Newt, I don’t know what else I can do. I think if his mother got investigated, had the girls taken away, that Credence would be fine with running away, but she doesn’t beat them. I don’t know if there's enough evidence to even get them taken away.”

“Wait, back up,” Newt said. “He hears things, then? Is he medicated at all?”

“No,” you said. “From what he’s told me, he became symptomatic sometime in high school and his mother convinced him that he was possessed by the devil. He’s been pretending to not hear things because they tried to exorcise him through a baptism that nearly drowned him. Newt, it’s bad. These people are fucking crazy.”

“Could you sneak him to a doctor while his Mum’s away?” Newt asked. “The sooner he gets treatment, the better he’ll be.”

“I was hoping to have him out of there soon,” you said. “And, I would love to get him to a doctor, but I doubt he has insurance for something like that—and if he did it would be under his mother, I’m sure.”

“So just take him and say he’s uninsured.”

“Do you know how much a psych workup would cost?” you gasped.

“I’ll help you,” Newt said. “If he’s interested at all, just do it and I’ll pay it out.”

“Newt, that’s too much—“

“Just run the idea by him. He may not even be up for it, or he may want to wait. Either way.”

“You’re too good,” you said. 

“Well, I have the wealth to spare,” he said. It was true, the Scamander family was ridiculously wealthy. Newt had been sent abroad with enough fortune to sustain him for years, and that wasn’t counting what he earned through his own projects and grants. He was also incredibly generous. Most months he would conveniently ‘forget’ to collect your half of the rent and he had helped Jacob out with a down payment for his bakery. And, admittedly, Credence stood to benefit greatly if he did agree to see a professional.

“Thank you, Newt,” you said. “I can’t wait ‘til next week. This whole thing has me shaken up.”

“Again, if you need me to come home now—“

“No, it’s fine,” you argued. “I’ll feel better when you’re back, but don’t rush it, okay?”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Right,” he said. “You, too.”


	7. ...the floodgate breaking

Despite promising to return the next day, Credence wasn't waiting in the studio when you arrived. You thought little of it at first--after all, he hadn't committed to any specific time--but as the minutes ticked by to hours, you began to worry. You attended a morning class and when you returned to the empty studio, you considered messaging him.

You knew there was a risk to contacting him. What if his mother was home that day? What if the iPod wasn't silenced and she heard to notification? But, you also couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was hurt or having a bad episode--just enough to keep him from leaving home.

You sent a vague message, -You up?-

It could be for anyone, honestly, so even if the iPod was discovered he could pretend it wasn't for him, that he had just acquired the device. You imagined that stealing--because he would certainly be accused of theft--would result in a lashing but if it was discovered that he had a connection to anyone it would undoubtedly be much worse.

You wondered if he even had internet at home, and you weren't hopeful that he'd even be able to receive it unless he was out walking past a wi-fi hotspot or something. But, miraculously, the message was marked as delivered. You waiting, holding your breath for a good couple of minutes before the telltale ellipsis appeared under your message. 

The reply was, -Modesty's sick-

-You home?-

-Yes-

Quickly, you returned, -Mom home?-

Then, a short, -No-

-Need help?- 

You weren't expecting that he'd reply favorably to that, so you were incredibly surprised when he replied, -Please-

-What can I do?- you returned urgently.

-She has a fever-  
-Throwing up-  
-We aren't allowed to take medicine but she needs it-

To the rapid-fire messages, you replied, -I'll pick something up. What's your address?-

You were already out the door when he replied with the number and street. Luckily, it was close, so you didn't bother heading to your car--it would take you just as long to walk to your parking spot and drive back as it would to just walk the few blocks from the church. There was a convenience store along the way and you stopped in. You weren't exactly sure of Modesty's age, but you guessed she was young enough to need the children's dosage of any medication. You purchased some Motrin, chicken soup, and popsicles--all grossly overpriced, but you brushed it off. You kept the items to a minimum until you could further assess the situation.

Credence was watching for you in the window and ushered you in when you arrived. The Barebone house was small and shabby and scarcely furnished. The first room you walked into had a sofa, an armchair, a couple end tables, and an old tube-television. The curtains were dark and they blocked out the sunlight. 

Credence seemed at least a little comfortable, dressed in lightweight pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. There was a shuddering moment that he almost hid his scarred arms from you, but he forced himself to hold them in view--you had seen them, after all.

You removed your shoes at the door. "How is she?"

He shook his head, looking panicked. "She hasn't kept anything down since last night and her fever's just getting worse."

"What have you tried?" you asked. You shuffled through the your bag and pulled out the liquid medication. "She'll probably want to chase this with some water."

"She has a glass," he said offhandedly and began walking. "When her fever started, Ma ran a cold bath and dunked her in it, but it didn't help." You weren't surprised. Actually, ice baths caused the body to shiver and that could increase a fever. "I've been putting a washcloth on her head, but it sucks out the cool so fast."

You walked through, following Credence down a hall. The cracked hardwood floor creaked under your steps. "Hey, it's going to be okay. Kids are tough, y'know?"

He nodded, but you knew he only half-believed you. He reached the end of the hall, poking his head into a darkened room off to the left. "Moddy, you awake?"

A quiet voice replied, but you couldn't make out the words. You looked around, noticing that none of the rooms had doors except the one across the hall from Modesty's. You wondered if that was their mother's bedroom, if the children all had to keep their rooms open and themselves exposed.

Credence motioned for you to come into the room with Modesty. You quietly entered, noticing a pristinely made bed on one side of the room and Modesty's occupied bed on the opposite wall--the girls shared a room. Between the beds was a chest of drawers. A lamp sat atop the chest along with a small stack of books. On the side closest to Modesty, there was a glass of water and a small bowl of what looked like oatmeal that hadn't been touched. At the foot of the bed, there was a trash can that had a clean liner--you suspected that it was being changed as Modesty dirtied it with sick. Apart from that, the room was tiny and the walls were bare, like a prison cell.

Modesty looked completely miserable, her face drained of color and her hair wet with sweat. She was bundled up with blankets but she was shivering. Credence placed his hand fully on her forehead, frowning. He introduced you, telling her your name. "She's got some medicine. Sit up so you can take it, okay?"

"Ma won't like it," Modesty said weakly. She was in the process of shifting onto her elbows, however.

"Ma won't know about it," Credence insisted. He braced Modesty's back and rubbed her shoulders gently. 

You opened the medicine and poured a dose into the provided measuring cup. "Here, sweetie. It tastes gross, but it'll help." 

The girl took the little cup and tipped it back, taking the orange liquid in one go. She grimaced, licking her chapped lips and handed to cup back. Credence handed her the glass of water and she sipped it to get rid of the medicine-creamsicle taste. You shuffled in the store bag again and pulled out a popsicle, offering it to her. 

"What's this for?" she asked incredulously. 

"For hydration," you said. "And because it tastes good. Maybe it won't make you sick if you eat it slowly, okay?"

Credence procured the small box of popsicles, said he'd stash them in the freezer until you left. He rushed out of the room to stow the frozen treats, leaving you with Modesty for a moment. She seemed to be fumbling with the popsicle wrapper, so you reached out to help her tear the package open.

She popped the end of the strawberry-ice in her mouth, squealing a little. "S'cold!"

She didn't complain further, though, as she sucked the juice from the ice. Before Credence returned, she bit the tip off, crunched the ice, and asked, "Are you Credence's girlfriend?"

You motioned to the end of her bed, an unspoken request to sit. She nodded and you took up post at her feet. "I'm his friend."

"He wants you to be his girlfriend," Modesty said bluntly. "He talks about you a lot when Ma's not listening."

"He needs a friend more than a girlfriend, don't you think?" you asked softly. 

"I think he'd like a girlfriend more." Modesty shrugged and stuck the popsicle back in her mouth. 

"If you finish that one, there's a few more. I'll take them when I go though, so your mom won't know I was here. I also brought some chicken soup if you want that instead."

"Credence says you paint," Modesty said.

"I do. I like painting animals."

"I like to draw, but I don't get to very much," Modesty admitted. "Ma says it's a waste of time and it's lazy."

"I'm sorry," you said sadly. "I've had people tell me that painting is a waste of time, too, but I don't like to listen to them much."

"I have to listen to Ma or she's mean to Credence." She stared at the door, listened for her brother's footsteps. She whispered, "I wish you'd take him away so he wouldn't get hurt anymore."

"It's not that easy," you sighed.

In the next moment, Credence returned to the room and sat at the headboard with Modesty. He looked worriedly at her but kept a few inches between them. He appeared to want to touch, to comfort her, but he held back. You wondered if some self-deprecating part of his mind had convinced him that he was tainted, that he would only corrupt his sister.

Modesty finished her popsicle and settled back into bed, the shivering subsiding slightly. Her breathing deepened, evened, and she fell asleep. Credence led you out of the room and into another at the front of the hall. More empty walls greeted you, a single bed, and a small end table. There was a closet in this room, unlike the other, but it was still cramped and desolate. 

"Your room?" you asked rhetorically. "Homey."

"I hate it," he grumbled. "But, I just sleep here, so it doesn't matter." He sat on his bed, which was made but not with the same military precision as Chastity's, and he held an arm out to you. 

You closed the distance, standing at the edge of the bed and he slumped into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back. His forehead was even with your shoulder in this position and he nudged his brow against your neck. 

"I'm sorry I didn't come today," he apologized. 

"Don't worry about it," you argued. "I'm just glad my message got through."

"There's a store across the street with internet," he said. "The signal's weak, but I guess I can connect from here."

"That's good," you sighed. "Next time, would you mind messaging me to let me know you're okay? I was worried when you weren't in the studio."

He tilted his head up, his eyes looking dewy as they locked with yours. "I will. I'm sorry I didn't think about it."

You searched his face and ruffled his hair. He leaned into the touch, enjoying it. Your hand slid slowly down, grazing his ear and resting on his jaw. A crinkle formed between in brows as they scrunched in something of a pout. 

You were hit with a sickening heaviness. You were surrounded by the stark shambles of the Barebone home--and, god, did the house fit the surname, bare to the bone--tending to a sick little girl who was denied medicine by her only legal caretaker, and holding the man with an equal but different sickness. The desperation of it all made your throat burn with tears, and you fought the urge to beg Credence to leave with you, to trust that you would save his sisters and just run. 

As it stood, you knew he wouldn't, knew it would be upsetting to continuously ask him to do the impossible. Your eyes roved over him, mapping out the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the strong planes of his nose and and chin, a small scar close on the right side of his jaw. His eyes, dark and deep and brown, were unblinking and wet as they watched you exploring his face. You kept your hand still on his jaw though you wanted to smooth your fingertips over his skin--because, oh, his reaction would be beautiful and you knew it, but you didn't feel you deserved to be the first to experience that, as you no doubt would be. 

Your lip quivered and he noticed it, his lips parting with a sharp breath. He whispered, "What are you thinking?"

You dropped your hand from him completely, but he didn't release the loose hold on you. You tore your eyes away. 'He wants you to be his girlfriend,' Modesty had said, as though you weren't already keenly aware of it. But, it wasn't fair to him. You'd had every opportunity to date and make mistakes and hurt and heal. He was fully capable of consent--you weren't so ignorant to think that mental illness disqualified him from relationships or made him less able to make his own choices--but it was unexplored territory for him. 

"Hey, what are you thinking?" he repeated, tightening his grip.

You couldn't bring yourself to lie to him, but admitting anything would be absolute--there would be no turning back. "I can't say," you said, settling. 

"No," he hissed. "No, don't do that." His eyes widened in fear, like he'd just had a nasty secret whispered into his ear--and maybe he had. "Please, don't do that."

You said. "It's nothing bad. It's just not something I'm ready to say, okay?" 

That you thought he was beautiful, that you wanted to kiss his hurt away, that you wanted to take him home--to a real home, not some torture chamber disguising itself as one. That if you had met him anywhere else, at any other point in his life, you would have no hesitation. That you knew very little about him, about his personality, but people seldom did when they began dating so it didn't matter. That you wanted to know him, wanted him to know you. That if it ended in disaster it would hurt terribly because you wanted to work for him.

His eyes darted to the door, double checking that no prying eyes were watching. You couldn't look at him, didn't dare lest you spill everything playing through your head. You didn't pull away from him, though, and it made him brave. He straightened, leaned just the slightest bit, and pressed his lips to yours.


	8. ...a kiss

If ever Credence believed there was a god, it was in that moment, lip-locked with you, because his mind had never been so blissfully still and quiet. Or maybe, he thought, it was just the effect you had, the ability to calm him. 

You froze with a sharp gasp as Credence placed a chaste peck to your lips and pulled back slowly. All at once, like a dam breaking, you felt both guilt for allowing the contact to happen and immense joy that it had. His arms were still circled around you possessively, a declaration as sure as any that he wasn't going to back down. 

You felt a little defeated at how rapidly your willpower was crumbling. "Dammit, I'm supposed to be your friend," you hissed. "This isn't... You shouldn't have to worry about this shit on top of everything else."

"You were staring at me," he whispered. 

"Yes, and I shouldn't have been," you argued weakly. "I shouldn't even think about dragging you into something."

"You wouldn't be dragging," he scoffed. "You're... you're beautiful. If you're even thinking that we could... how could I not want that?"

"Because it doesn't have to be me," you said. "Once this is all over, once you've put this place behind you, you'll be free to get out and meet people and live your life and--"

"And no one will see anything in me like you... somehow... have." The statement ended with decreasing gusto, as his confidence, too, was waning. He had no proof that you saw something in him at all, actually, but he hoped so desperately that you did. The gnawing, mocking voices were beginning to push back on him, laughing that he was wrong.

"Credence," you pleaded, "you just can't see it, but you are..." His hands on your back quivered and you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to fight yourself, didn't want to withhold affection from him, didn't want to douse whatever was sparking between the two of you. An obnoxious little voice of your own was screaming 'hey, what are you doing, stupid!' Your hesitance was breaking him to pieces and before more damage could be done, you took the plunge. "Credence, you're gorgeous. I mean actually, very gorgeous. And, you're incredibly strong and... god, just so selfless. I'm not the only person who will see it, I'm just the first. So, please, don't sell yourself sh--"

He silenced you with a kiss. Honestly, he'd only heard about half of what you'd said, so stunned by you calling him 'gorgeous' that the rest became hazy in his brain. With the second contact, you'd be damned if you left him hanging again, and you pressed back gently. Keeping it light, you withdrew just slightly and returned, repeated this process several times, placing fluttering kisses. With each new contact, he pressed back more urgently, trying to catch you for longer each time. With each pull back, he chased a little more frantically, trying to capture your lips again, until he was outright scrambling for the touch to renew. 

You leaned away slowly, placing a finger to his lips. His eyes rolled up to meet yours and you said, "Slowly."

"Right, it's..." He knew this couldn't well continue further, not in his mother's house, not while Modesty was sick. If he wasn't feeling so victorious at the small progression, he'd feel incredibly guilty. "Sorry, I'll stop... we should stop. But, we can do this again, right?"

"Yes," you said breathlessly. "But not here, it's not safe here."

"No, you're right," Credence sighed. "I'm sorry."

You placed one last, reassuring kiss and smiled brightly at him. 

\-------------------------------

You couldn't stay long with the risk of Mary Lou returning growing with every passing hour. Immediately before you left, you made sure Modesty was settled--her fever had dropped gradually and she managed to eat a bowl of soup without losing it. 

There was a service scheduled for that night, one that Credence said he would respectfully miss in favor of watching over Modesty. With him sitting it out, there was no point in your going and pretending to be interested. Besides, you had a paper on Color Theory halfway finished and due soon that would keep you preoccupied for the night.

It was still early in the afternoon when you returned home and Niffler and Dougal met you at the door, yowling. You fed them a snack to appease them and pulled Frank from his aviary and onto your shoulder for some social time. Phone in hand, you dialed Newt through FaceTime. 

He answered with a cheery smile. "Glad you've learned to phone me at decent hours. How's it at home--oh, hello, Frank!"

"Say hello to Mum, Frankie," you sighed, holding your phone up so the bird could see the screen. Newt flapped ridiculously at him, which Frank seemed to recognize if his happy squawk was any indication. "Right, settle down, you weirdo. You'll have him blowing feathers all over my room."

Newt laughed and found a seat. "C'mon now, you know he's at least your second favorite beast in the house."

"Third favorite, actually," you corrected. "Promptly following Dougal and you of course."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Newt sang. "So, things. How are they?"

"Things," you echoed. "Well, they're certainly things, that's for sure."

"What's that mean?" 

Frank began plucking at your hair and you clucked at him when he yanked a little too hard. You always felt a little strange talking with Newt about your romantic life. It wasn't that he was incapable of grasping it--no, quite the opposite, he had a textbook proficiency in all things Biology and a very objective view on the subject, as well. However, this meant it was exactly like him to bring up very clinical observations--"oh, you know what pheromones are responsible for that?" or "at one point that sort of behavior was considered an effective way to attract a mate" or, god the worst of all, "ovulation does crazy things to people". He was hands-down the best man to bring to bar trivia on Science Night... but a nightmare of a sounding board for relationship advice.

"I'm going to say something and you are going to immediately forget that I said it," you said, getting the disclaimer out of the way. "Because I'm just getting it off my chest and I don't want anything else said about it. Okay?" His lips flattened into a confused line. "Deal?"

"I don't see why--" He frowned at your expression, a little like a child who'd had a toy taken away. "Fine. Not a word."

You shooed Frank over to your bed so he'd stop pestering you and took a shaky breath. "So, things. Um... Credence and I are one. A thing." You thought on it. "Sort of. Maybe."

Newt's eyes went wide in shock, his mouth open in a disbelieving crooked grin. "A word?" he gasped. "Just one? A single word, please?"

You pulled a face. "No. You are to erase that confession from your mind."

"One word," he said, looking positively jittery.

"Oh... oh, fine dammit, one word." You quickly added, "One. Word."

"What..."

"That!" you cut. "One word only--"

"...the bloody hell are you doing?" he finished anyway. "I'm gone for all of three weeks and now--there are several factors that should give you pause in persuing something with this particular man."

"I am well aware, Mum."

"You could be endangering yourself--"

"Yes, I know."

"--and he is..." Newt didn't finish the sentence, didn't have to. You already felt low enough. Credence was a victim and he would reach out to any kindness that presented itself. You knew that, and yet...

"Newt, he kissed me and I reacted and it didn't blow up in my face. And he was happy about the whole thing and I know it was real because he's not the type that can fake something like that. What moral high-ground am I supposed to take here? Please."

Newt sighed, wanting to lecture you, wanting to site some deeply psychological reason why Credence would gravitate towards you as a means of survival. But, a guilty part of him knew that he, too, had exploited that benevolent side of you when he was hurting and so he really had no room to talk. You'd been kind, adapted as Newt needed it, never pushed anything more than friendship even when those closest to you said you should, that you were being led along. You'd certainly been called Newt's rebound girlfriend on more than one occasion, right after the shitshow that was Leta, and you never once complained about the insult.

And, well, Credence could certainly do worse. He could have fixated on someone manipulative, but Newt knew you would approach the abused man with utmost care.

"Just be careful," he said finally. "I'd hate to see anyone hurt."

"He's already hurt," you said pointedly. "And that's... that's the thing, though. He's hurting so bad that he's just looking for someone to make it stop."

"Let me rephrase then," Newt addended. "I'd hate to see you get hurt if he happens to see you as a means to an end. If after all this--"

"Oh, it'll hurt," you said. "But, I can take it. "

Newt doubted that somehow. You were clearly attached and invested, and nothing had even been made official. It was a recipe for disaster, especially factoring in the presence of an abuser in the man's life and the ever-looming issue of his undiagnosed mental illness. There were too many hurdles, too many things that could go awry. 

You said your solemn goodbyes and goodnights and Newt warned you to please, please take care. After disconnecting, you resigned yourself to a long shower and maybe, hopefully, a bit of work on your paper.

And, Newt rescheduled his flight.


	9. ...a sister

On Wednesday, Credence woke with clarity. He knew that it was, in part, because his mind was calm—maybe it would be a good day—but also because he was riding the high of triumph after you’d allowed him closer to you. He laid in bed a few minutes too long, getting lost in thought, replaying the previous day’s contact over and over in his head. You had worn some sort of Chapstick or lip balm, and he had felt the soft moisture of it on his lips long after you had parted. He had scrubbed it off his lips before Ma could come home and see the clear sheen, but he could still imagine the feel of it, could imagine the soothing balm mending the cracks in his skin.

You hadn’t tasted like anything except the softness of the balm—which, thinking of it, seemed ridiculous to Credence. Did softness have a taste? How would he even describe that? He wondered if you’d allow him to resume where you left off the next time you saw one another. Would you greet him with a kiss instead of a hug? Would you taste of softness again or would you allow a deeper kiss, a different taste?

The sheets were ripped away from him and he rolled over, his mind hazy with a bleary half-sleep, half-daydream, and found his Ma glaring angrily at him. 

“Out of bed, you,” she snapped. “No one has the time for your laziness this morning.”

“Sorry, Ma.” Credence quickly shuffled out of bed, smoothing his hair down and turning to tuck the sheets neatly into place. His Ma smacked the back of his head in reprimand. 

“Modesty’s fever has broken,” she said sternly. “Make sure she goes back to school today. If she tries to skip, I will know about it.”

Credence wanted to argue that a fever wasn’t his sister’s only ailment, but talking back would get him hit again. He knew he only had to last a bit longer—his Ma would leave for work and he’d see the girls off—before he could come to the studio and wait for you. His morning hadn’t been turned upside down yet, and he’d rather keep it that way.

With his bed made, he entered the kitchen to sit with his sisters. Modesty looked less than enthused but overall better, though the color hadn’t quite returned to her cheeks. She was struggling over a bowl of oatmeal, debating whether eating would be a good idea. Chastity was sitting prim and proper, eating a piece of dry toast. Their Ma scurried around, checking her reflection in the glass door of the microwave.

“Girls, behave at school,” she ordered, hanging a tote bag over her shoulder. It contained a bible, some leaflets for the church, and probably some books sensationalizing the wickedness of the world—written by like-minded cultists—along with her personal items. “Credence, I expect you’ll do your reading today. It may benefit you to reflect a little longer on the vices, particularly sloth.” 

He nodded mechanically and pushed Modesty’s bowl of oats a little closer to her. She grimaced and shook her head at him.

“Modesty, eat your breakfast,” their Ma said. “The sick act isn’t fooling anyone.” With that, she gathered herself and headed for the door. 

Chastity called, “Have a good day, Ma.” The door slammed and the siblings waited for the telltale squeal of worn brake pads. Once the sound faded, Chastity hissed, “Bitch.”

“Cassie,” Credence warned.

“Moddy, next time try to wake up early and brush your teeth with hot water before Ma takes your temperature,” Chastity said. She grabbed Modesty’s bowl, convinced that her sister wouldn’t be eating it, and dragged it in front of Credence. “You want it?”

“No,” he said quietly, pushing it along to the older of his sisters. Chastity shrugged and dug into the oats.

“I tried but she caught me first,” Modesty grumbled. “I feel okay, just not hungry.”

Chastity searched her backpack and produced a handful of quarters. She passed them to Modesty. “Get some crackers from the vending machine at school, okay? You need to eat something.” Modesty took them gratefully, tucking them into her pockets. Chastity turned to Credence and asked, “Are you going to see her today?”

“Yeah,” Credence left the table and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

When Chastity finished the last bits of oatmeal, she hovered at the bathroom door. “Tell her thanks for bringing medicine.”

Credence spat toothpaste and wiped his mouth on his arm. “I will.” 

“Tell her to sit in the pew behind us if she comes to church again,” Chastity said. “I’d like to meet her.”

“That would be suspicious,” Credence argued. 

“Ma thinks it’s weird that she sits in the back by herself,” Chastity returned. “It would be less suspicious if she talked to someone. I can go sit with her, if you think that would be better.”

“You talk to all the new people that come in,” Credence said. “Ma probably wouldn’t say anything about it.”

“Well, tell her I’ll come sit by her next time, okay?” Credence nodded and she continued, “Are you eating when you’re with her?”

“Yes,” he insisted. He had been known to skip meals, and Chastity had no doubt noticed how little he was eating at home lately. “I’m eating. Stop worrying.” He grabbed the door and began closing it, a signal that he was going to take a shower.

“Just checking.” Chastity sauntered back into the kitchen. 

Credence ran the water, washed and rinsed quickly. He took a few extra minutes to shave but was still out before the bus even arrived. He dressed lighter than usual and Chastity took note but said nothing. When the bus stopped by, she and Modesty boarded it and Credence walked out behind them, headed to the studio.

\-------------

Queenie was sitting at her desk when he arrived, and a tall, dark-haired woman was reading at the empty desk by the door. The blonde spun in her chair with a bright smile. “Good morning, Credence! This is my sister, Tina. Teenie, this is Credence.”

Her sister, Tina, seemed to need no other introduction, meaning Queenie had already told her about Credence and why he was here. Tina looked up from her book with a sad, questioning smile, and said, “Hi, Credence, it’s nice to meet you.”

He managed a quiet ‘hello’ but stayed awkwardly at the door. Queenie motioned toward a box with the Kowalski bakery logo and said, “Jake sent a bunch of kolaches if you’re hungry.”

Credence thanked her and plucked one from the box before sitting on the couch with it. Queenie mentioned that you would be arriving soon with lattes and Credence relaxed, knowing that you were coming. The sisters let a comfortable silence fill the room, accented by the turning of pages from Tina and fluttering of cloth from Queenie, and Credence was grateful that they didn’t try to make small talk.

You stepped into the studio shortly after, balancing a tray of drinks in one hand and a large rectangular portfolio bag on your opposite shoulder. Tina met you at the door to take the drinks and she passed them around. You situated the bag beside your desk and greeted Credence with a hug. 

“Morning,” you said, turning your head to place a quick kiss to his cheek. He shivered against the contact and squeezed you tightly. He wasn’t sure if the sisters had seen the act, but that you had dared do it in front of them made him light-headedly happy. “How’s Modesty?”

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly releasing you. “Her fever’s gone so Ma made her go to school. She didn’t want to eat this morning, but she looked a little better.”

“Hopefully it’s just a stomach bug or something,” you said woefully. You excused yourself to the kolache box and took one. Credence fell back to the couch and you plopped down beside him. “Queenie, what time did you need me today?”

“Two to four if you have the time, Hon,” she said sweetly.

“Perfect,” you chimed. “I’ll be free.” You were modeling for one of Queenie’s seminars and you really couldn’t miss this one. 

Tina was the first to leave, headed to a morning class, and Queenie followed soon after her to meet with her advisors. You had work to do in the studio and laid out materials, but you simply couldn’t find the motivation to begin. You found yourself on the couch with Credence again, making anxious small talk.

“So, how are things?” you asked. “I mean, any bad days lately?”

“Not as many,” he said. Next, he hesitated before asking, “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”

Careful, you needed to be careful. “I couldn’t say for sure because I’m not a doctor, but it’s something in your brain. Chemicals getting mixed up or missing altogether.”

“And you don’t think I’m dangerous?” he asked weakly. “If there’s something messed up in my head, how can I not be? I hear voices and they say awful things sometimes… not today. Today, they’re quiet. But when they aren’t—”

You took his hand and gently squeezed his fingers. “You aren’t dangerous. You don’t seem the type to have outbursts—you internalize, withdraw. That’s common, y’know. Other people that have symptoms like yours, they’re usually very sensitive and… afraid. But not dangerous.”

“Do you know other people like this?” he asked, his fingers flexing against yours.

“I don’t, personally,” you answered, “but I’ve taken classes to recognize symptoms. It’s part of the Safe System training.”

He had a sudden frightening thought. “Does Queenie know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something,” you said simply. “Newt already knows.”

“How?”

“We’ve talked about it,” you said guiltily. “He noticed you seemed… jumpy. So, I told him.”

“Before or after he said I could stay with you?” 

Credence’s hands stilled in yours. You did not like the rabbit hole this conversation was going down. “He’s not going to change his mind, Credence. You’re still welcome to stay with us.”

“He said that?”

“Do you want me to call him again so he can tell you himself?”

Credence almost wanted you to, just for the validation, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Getting that approval would give him an out, a safe place to stay, but he couldn’t allow himself to think about running away. He couldn’t betray his sisters like that, couldn’t just leave them.

“You know,” you said. “There are medications that help. Behavioral therapies and medications. And Newt… well, he’s told me that he’d help you if it was something you wanted to try.”

“Help…?”

“With money,” you said quickly. 

“Oh—I couldn’t—”

“I’m just letting you know.” He hadn’t pulled his hands away yet, and you worried your thumbs over his knuckles. “He’s offered it. He wants to help you. That’s all I meant. He wants to help however he can, and if that just means giving you a place to stay…”

“I can’t leave,” he said firmly.

“I know,” you said. “It’s wishful thinking on my part.” 

He lost himself thinking about everything you’d just said. Medication and therapy and people who would pay for it… it seemed too good to be true. He couldn’t imagine a medicine that would make the voices stop any more than he could imagine escaping his Ma. He didn’t know that he even wanted any of that. He’d met you, found a friend, and he didn’t feel worthy of more than that. He couldn’t have everything.

You stood, thinking maybe he was upset with you, and slipped your hands from his. He gave you a shuddering look. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you just want to help. Are you mad?”

“No,” you said gently. “I’m feeling helpless, that’s all. And, I guess I thought maybe you didn’t like talking about these things so… I’m just giving you space if you want it.”

“I don’t—want space, that is.” He ran his hand up your arm, holding it over your elbow. You faced him, your hand resting gently at his jaw. You brushed under his ear, your fingers tapping anxiously. He had an urge to hug you and didn’t fight it. His arms wrapped around your waist, and the sudden tug shifted your balance. You tipped forward, bringing your knee onto the couch to keep yourself from crashing into him.

“Sorry,” he squeaked. He hadn’t intended to yank you forward.

You shifted your other leg onto the couch, effectively straddling his lap, and he buried his face into your neck before you could see the intense blush spread on his cheeks. Noticing the position you were in, you asked, “This okay?”

“I’m the one that pulled you.” His breath tickled your neck.

“Hey, Credence,” you whispered. “C’mere.”

You pushed his shoulders back, prying him away from your neck. He looked completely bewildered and took a sharp intake of breath when you pitched forward to kiss him. You pulled back, gauging his expression. His eyes had been closed for the contact and he looked back at you lazily.

“Was that too forward?” you asked. 

He could feel your lip balm on his skin again and he pursed his lips. He shook his head and leaned into another kiss, catching the side of your mouth. You smiled into the kiss, turning your head to meet him fully. His arms circled your back, holding you tightly, and you rocked into his mouth. He sighed happily and you nibbled at his lower lip when they parted slightly. He copied you, carefully testing love bites. The kissing was accentuated with occasional laps of your tongue against his and he groaned into the contact. 

You tasted sweet, but different from the chai that you brought for him. He wondered what it was that you usually drank if not chai. It wasn’t coffee, he could tell that much. He felt absurd for thinking about your drink and cursed his mind for wandering while you were kissing him—kissing him!—and he parted from you so he wouldn’t miss any of the sensation. 

“Sorry, too much?” you asked gently.

“It’s not you,” he said quickly. “My mind’s wandering.”

“To what?” 

There was humor to your voice, but he still felt ashamed. “You taste like your drink.”

“My—oh, it’s matcha,” you said a little awkwardly. You clarified, “Green tea latte. I’m the only one that likes them. Queenie and Newt both say it tastes like grass.”

“Grass?” Credence said.

You hopped out of his lap and retrieved your cup, handing it to him. “See what you think.”

He took a sip, tested it, and held back a laugh. 

“No, not you, too!” you groaned.

“You said it and now it’s all I can think of,” Credence admitted. “It’s an aftertaste.”

You stole your drink back and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Whatever, I’ll just take my grass tea and sit over here, then.” He laughed and kicked back on the couch. “Oh, I did want to ask for a favor.”

“Hmm?” 

You placed your drink on the desk and turned to him. “I need to work on my life drawings but my models have all been flaky lately. Would it bother you if I… drew you…?” He stared up at you, his expression shocked. You quickly withdrew the question. “Never mind. That’s probably really awkward, just forget I—”

“I don’t have to be… naked or anything, right?” He’d seen some of the sketches you had and they were all nude. 

“Oh, no no no,” you said rapidly. You wanted to make a joke about taking him to dinner first, but you thought the humor might be lost on him. “We have models for anatomy. I need to work on more poses than they give us, though. We only ever get a handful of poses from our classes.”

“Okay,” he said shyly. “I’ll help if I can.”

“You will? Oh, thank you!” you cheered. Honestly, you’d been itching to get a sketch of him, but you certainly weren’t going to tell him that. More than poses, you wanted to focus on his face, but you’d save that for another day. 

You pulled a chair up to the window closest to your desk and directed him to sit, arms crossed on the sill, staring out. “If you need to move, it’s fine. And you can talk, too. I just need a general idea, okay?”

He stayed very still, though, not wanting to shift incorrectly and somehow ruin you sketch. While he posed, you spoke softly to him, rambling a bit through your concentration. “What are your sisters like?”

“Chastity is… rebellious,” he said quietly. His eyes slipped closed and he seemed to be responding dreamily. “She hides it very well, so she has Ma fooled. She smiles at her and then curses her behind her back. I tell her not to, but she’s really stubborn. She worries about us all the time.” He hummed briefly. “She wants to sit with you at church.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “If you come tonight she’ll sit with you. Ma thinks it’s strange that you sit by yourself.”

“It won’t be suspicious if I talk to her, will it?”

“No, she talks to people,” he assured. “If Ma walks up, she’ll start asking you weird stuff like what you think about abortion or gay people. Just answer what you’d think Ma would want to hear and she’ll leave you alone.” He gave a puff of a laugh. “Chastity doesn’t believe in anything that Ma does, so don’t think bad about her.”

“I won’t,” you said. “It wouldn’t be safe for any of you to disagree with her. I get it.”

“Modesty is vocal about it,” Credence said sadly. “She doesn’t get why we have to pretend. She’s going to get in a lot of trouble if she doesn’t learn to play along.”

“I haven’t heard back from CPS,” you grumbled. “Hopefully I will soon. I want to get them out of there and then… well, you’ll come stay with me, won’t you?”

“I’d like that,” he murmured. “Only if they’re safe, though.”

“I know.” You rounded out your sketch, gave it a once over, and grinned. “Done with this one!”

You turned it to him and he studied it in awe. You’d drawn him so quickly. The lines were scratchy but they formed a beautiful picture. The details of his face were more defined and the person he was on the paper seemed so peaceful. He wondered if that’s what you actually saw in him and felt hopeful that it might be.

“Now, face me and hold your arm over the back of the chair,” you ordered. You positioned him, angling his shoulders just-so to get a three-quarters view. You tipped his head up slightly, extending his neck to give a good view of his throat and jaw.

“Why would anyone sit like this?” he laughed.

You huffed and stood beside him, looking directly into his eyes. You’d posed him at the perfect angle to converse with you or receive a kiss maybe. With that idea in mind, you tipped down and pressed gently into his lips. “Any more questions?”

“I didn’t catch that answer,” he said grinning. “Could you repeat it?”

You blushed at that and for a split second he almost felt like he overstepped. That is, until you kissed him again. “Cheeky.”

You took your seat again and began your sketch and he basked in his triumph.

“Do you have any siblings?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t,” you said.

“Your parents?”

“Are journalists,” you said. “They do a lot of work overseas. We only really meet up for holidays now, but I actually spent the last few Christmases in London with Newt and his family.”

Credence quieted, imagining what London might be like, not that he had any hope of going himself. His future was uncertain enough that he couldn’t predict a week ahead; there was no point in wondering what might come months ahead.

He drifted into something of a trance, snapping back when he heard music playing softly. You had turned it on to fill the silence. There was an abbreviated intro played on piano and then soft lyrics. His ears felt fuzzy when you began singing along. The chorus kicked in with a steady drum beat and strumming of a guitar. Credence closed his eyes, listening intently. There were explosions of color playing on his eyelids in time to the music and he became lost in it. He wondered if that, too, was something unique to him. If music translated as color in his mind because of some imbalance in his brain, if he would lose that if he began taking medication for the voices. He had experienced the colors long before the voices, however, and he hoped that maybe that wouldn’t go away.

Your session with him continued like that for some time. Music playing, you singing, him singing every now and then to songs he also knew. He switched positions after every fourth or fifth song, and you sketched diligently.

Your concentration was broken by your phone ringing through the music. You were greeted by Newt’s pressed-face photo and you answered quickly. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s my favorite roommate,” Newt greeted, his voice borderline guilty.

“Why do you sound shady?” you muttered, catching the odd tone. “What’s going on?”

“I’m, ah… getting on a plane in ten minutes,” he said sheepishly.

“You what?” you gasped. “Newt, what happened to ‘I’m coming back next Friday’?”

“I’m homesick?” he tried.

“Don’t give me that,” you snapped. “I told you to stay it out.”

“I’ll be arriving at around eight in the morning,” he continued without missing a beat. “Do I need to call Jacob?”

“No, you don’t need to call Jacob.”

“It’s Thursday tomorrow, yes? That’s a busy class day for you, isn’t it?”

“Queenie’s head of the lab for one and I can pass the other with my eyes closed,” you said. “I’ll pick you up. Eight, you said?”

“Barring any delays,” he replied. 

“If your plane has wifi, keep in contact.” You sighed. “Jesus, you didn’t have to cut your trip short. I feel bad now.”

“Stop,” he reprimanded. “I’d done all my fieldwork, anyway. I’m not missing anything.” You could hear an announcement on his end and he piped up, “Oh, I’m boarding.”

“Safe trip,” you said. “Drink lots of shitty cocktails.”

“Absolutely not,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t subject anyone on that plane to drunken me.”

“Drunken you is entertaining,” you teased. 

He ignored that. “See you in twenty hours, then.”

He promptly hung up and you looked up to Credence who was watching you carefully, his expression wilting. He asked, “He’s coming home early? It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” you said truthfully.

“Is he worried I’ll hurt you?”

“No,” you said, gathering him in a hug. “I told you he wants to help you. He can’t very well do that halfway across the globe.”

Credence breathed uneasily against you. “When do you have to leave to pick him up?”

“If I leave here by six or six-thirty, I’ll get to the airport on time,” you said. “We can probably be back by noon if you wanted to wait here for us.”

“Can…” He swallowed the uncertainty building in his chest. “Can I go with you?”

You reeled back to look him in the eyes. “You want to go?”

“Ma leaves around six,” he said. “If I’m not here by six-thirty, go ahead, but…”

“Sure!” You grinned brightly. “Yeah, I’ll wait. I’d love for you to go!” 

He smiled and hugged you soundly, his heart racing. He didn’t often leave town for anything and the thought of sneaking off with you was both exciting and terrifying. It was also risky, he would admit, but his Ma would be working. 

He spent the rest of his afternoon with you riding a courageous high. 

\--------

You attended the nightly service, sitting towards the back of the building and watching for Chastity to approach. As promised, she sat beside you the second she saw you and introduced herself.

“I’m Chastity,” she said sweetly. “I’ve seen you coming in, but I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You imagined that the greeting was more for appearances—there were church regulars sitting all around and you were sure they’d report suspicious activity to Mary Lou. You gave your name and a little small talk about how you’d met Mary Lou last week—how she’d gotten you interested in the church.

“Oh, would you want to stay after the service and help prepare dinner with my sister and me?” she asked. “We could always use a hand.”

She gave you a knowing smile—oh, she was clever—which you returned. “Sure. I’d love to.”

“Great!” She glanced up to the piano. “I’ll be playing tonight, but I’ll see you after!”

\------------

The kitchen was literally empty save for Chastity and Modesty. The sisters placed trays of food on a long buffet table and set to work removing foil lids and placing serving spoons. Chastity beckoned you closer and kept her voice low as she spoke to you. 

“It takes everybody a while to come in,” she said. “Ma may come by later and ask a bunch of stupid questions, but just smile and nod, okay?”

“I got that memo,” you replied. You looked down to Modesty. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” she said, her voice scratchy. “See, Cassie? Credence has a nice girlfriend.”

Chastity shushed her. “Moddy, don’t say things like that. Somebody could hear you. Besides, just because he has a friend that’s a girl doesn’t mean…” She gave you a puzzled look. “Unless… are you?”

You focused intently on a platter of mashed potatoes on the table in front of you. She took your silence for a ‘yes’ and gasped happily. You warned, “Easy now, someone could hear you, too.”

Chastity was mature for her age, but teenagers still tended to say things they shouldn’t and Modesty certainly couldn’t be trusted to keep quiet. It was no real fault of theirs, just a pitfall of immaturity. 

Chastity peered over her shoulder and found her mother at the far edge of the room, talking with a group of churchgoers. When she was sure Mary Lou would stay out of earshot for a moment, she whispered, “People say a lot of bad things about Credence, but don’t listen to them. They don’t know anything about him.”

“I know,” you said.

“They think he’s crazy,” Modesty added. “’Cause Ma told ‘em.”

“Girls, listen,” you insisted. “It’s not safe to talk about that here, okay? Pretend that I don’t know him at all because if someone hears you, he could get in a lot of trouble. You don’t want that, right?”

“No,” Chastity said guiltily. Modesty shook her head heavily.

“Good,” you said. “Our secret then.” You desperately hoped they’d keep it.

Mary Lou made her appearance beside you soon after, giving you a fake smile and grasping your shoulders in a gesture of supposed warmth. “Dear girl, I’m so glad to see you. I’m sorry I haven’t come by to say hello sooner. You pop out right after the services.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” She gave you fake good-will and so you gave her fake guilt. “I’ve been afraid to stay. I don’t make friends very easily.”

“Oh, Chastity can introduce you to some people,” she insisted. “You’ll fit right in, don’t you worry.”

You caught sight of Credence over Mary Lou’s shoulder and tried not to be too distracted by him. Grindelwald had moved in beside him and he was in close proximity, talking to him. Credence held himself tightly, on the defensive, and shied away from the man. You tore your eyes away before Mary Lou could become suspicious, though you wanted to go over to him so badly. Chastity wasn’t reserved in her staring, however, and her mother turned to see her son being scolded by the pastor.

“Oh, that boy,” Mary Lou chided. “I should go see what he’s done this time.”

Your blood boiled. You doubted he had done anything at all, that he was just being targeted. Mary Lou whisked away and you watched her anxiously. Chastity whispered quietly, “Don’t do anything. It’ll make it worse.”

“I know.” Your teeth ground together. “Even if I could stop it here, it would be worse at home. I know that.”

“Can’t he live with you?” Chastity pleaded.

You turned to her, wanting to cry but holding it down. “He can’t just leave you two,” you said. 

“We’re fine,” Chastity argued. “Ma won’t hit us. Our teachers at school would notice.”

“There are things worse than hitting, honey,” you said sadly. Chastity didn’t seem to understand that, but she didn’t question it. Modesty pouted, watching her brother being led outside by Grindelwald. When you turned, saw that he was gone, you had to choke down tears. “Could you tell your mom I have class early in the morning and had to go? I can’t… I can’t be here or I’ll do something stupid.”

“Yeah,” Chastity said. “We’ll tell her.”

You made your escape, fighting down the screeching urge to intervene. You’d see Credence soon enough and you held onto that for dear life.


	10. ...a roadtrip.

It was nearing 6:30 and you were jingling your keys nervously, imagining that Credence hadn’t been able to sneak out. You checked your phone, knowing that you would have to leave very soon lest you be late and Newt be stuck in limbo at the airport. You made your way out of the studio, hoping to run into Credence on the way out, and as you cleared the threshold out of the Fine Arts building, he nearly collided with you.

“Whoa, shit!” you yelped. He clutched his chest in shock, panting loudly. “Credence, you made it! You—did you run here?”

“Y-yeah,” he gasped. “I thought I’d—miss you—”

“Catch your breath, hey…” You petted his shoulder, giving him a wide grin. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get away0.”

“Me too,” he said, gulping air. 

You gave him a moment to settle his breathing and took his hand in yours, trying not to think about the fresh cuts you could feel on his palm. “I parked in the service lot behind the building. You ready?”

It was a short walk to your car. He studied the interior while you situated yourself and plugged your phone into the aux port. “What sort of music are you feeling for the ride?” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll be honest, I’m still half asleep. So, I’d prefer something energetic.”

“That’s fine,” he agreed. You picked out a playlist and he continued, “Did you go to sleep late?”

“A little,” you admitted. “Newt’s plane has wifi, so he was giving me a play-by-play of his flight. Oh, and he sent some cool pictures if you want to see. You’ve probably never flown, right?” Credence shook his head with a quiet verbal confirmation. “I don’t password lock my phone so just open it and take a look.”

Credence obeyed, tapping through the lockscreen (a picture of a fat, white cat) and navigating to your camera roll. There were numerous photos take from the plane window. The trip was documented from takeoff, showing the ground shrink until it disappeared under clouds. Credence was in awe, doubling back through the photos and imagining what it must be like to just soar away like that.

“I’m also not used to waking up this early,” you said with a yawn. “I need coffee, for sure, so we’ll swing through somewhere and pick up breakfast.”

“You’ve been on a plane before,” Credence hummed. 

It wasn’t really a question, but you replied, “Yeah, loads of times.”

“What’s it like?”

“Boring, honestly,” you laughed. “Short flights are okay, but the long ones make me stir-crazy. Takeoff is kind of exciting because you feel this pull in your stomach, and landing feels like you’re falling. But the flight itself is a lot like riding in a car, unless you hit turbulence.”

You chatted about the details of flying, reminiscing about a trip two Christmases prior when you and Newt had been snowed in during a layover and slept at your gate overnight. Credence listened intently and seemed disappointed at the pause in conversation when you pulled through a drive-thru to order breakfast and coffee. You quickly ran through a list of menu items and he settled on a croissant sandwich and black coffee. 

You kept your stories abbreviated while you ate, and Credence didn’t supply anything to the conversation until his sandwich was finished. Yours was devoured rapidly and you began talking full throttle again, but Credence seemed distracted.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He held a paper napkin and he was folding and unfolding it nervously. 

“Is the music bothering you? I can change it up.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Is it a loud day?” you pressed, wondering if he was trying to be stoic through a hallucination. “I have earbuds in my bag if that’ll help.”

“That… oh, no, I feel fine.” He worried a small tear in the tissue. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t really gone this far out on my own, and I’m… afraid that I won’t make a good impression, I guess.”

“A good impression?” you gasped. “On Newt? Oh, honey, he’s the most awkward person I know. If anything, he’ll be tripping over himself to make a good impression on you! You’ll be fine. Just give occasional feedback when he starts going off on a tangent and he’ll love you forever.”

Credence somehow doubted that Newt was more socially inept than him, but hearing your words was comforting nonetheless. He had nearly worked the tissue into two pieces when you laid your hand over the console, beckoning for his. He laced his fingers between yours and you gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t be nervous,” you said. 

“I just don’t want him to hate me,” he murmured. If your best friend hated him, you’d probably drop him like a bag of rocks, and the thought that he might be cut off from you was suffocating. His eyes welled up and you gripped his hand tighter. 

“Hey, don’t worry about something like that,” you soothed. “If you let it get to you, Newt will notice you’re upset and then he’ll take it upon himself to cheer you up. And you know how he does that? He’ll find the most obnoxious songs imaginable and belt them out at the top of his lungs. Which could be pretty fun if you also know the song, I guess.”

Credence laughed quietly but still felt a heaviness in his gut, a fear that Newt wouldn’t react favorably to him. The ill feeling remained for the rest of the trip.

\----------

The airport was crawling with people and Credence was very near drowning in the muddled cacophony of voices when you noticed his panicked expression. He squinted against the scramble of noise and you quickly pulled out your earbuds and passed them to him.

“Here, these will help,” you assured. “They don’t have to be plugged into anything, unless you want to listen to music?” He shook his head unsteadily and took them from you. “Just keep hold of my hand and we won’t get separated.”

He popped in the buds and sighed at the wave of noise-cancelling relief. The next moment, your hand was knotted in his and you were leading him through the crowd. Having the sound cut off was a huge help and he focused on following close, grateful that you had thought of the earbuds. 

You came to the edge of a no-entry zone, where Newt would be exiting, and found an empty booth at a little coffee shop. For good measure, you sent a text, alerting Newt to your arrival and he replied that he would be landing shortly.

“Hopefully they won’t hold him on the plane too long,” you said. Credence furrowed his brow, not quite hearing you, and he pulled out one bud. “Newt will be landing soon. I just hope they won’t hold him on the plane long,” you repeated. “Do you want a drink while we wait?”

“A… chai, I guess?” Credence hummed, unsure if chai was actually a common drink. You nodded and swept over to the counter, and he was relieved. Something familiar would anchor him and he very much needed it. He could feel eyes on him and he wondered if the people around could tell that he was an outsider in this place, that he didn’t fit. He placed the free bud back in his ear and fidgeted with the plug end of the cable.

When you returned, you sat the drinks on the table and moved to sit across from him. He caught your hand, however, and tugged you to his side of the table. He kept his gaze low and you squeezed in beside him, effectively boxing him against the wall. He sighed and tangled his fingers with yours again, his knuckles feeling fearfully cold.

Asking if he was okay seemed pointless, so you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He seemed to shrink toward you and you wondered if making himself smaller was a calming maneuver. 

After a moment, he removed the bud from the ear closest to you and said, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you said. His eyes were shifting anxiously. You rested your chin on his shoulder, putting as little space between your lips and his ear as possible and you softly assured, “If you don’t feel like talking or listening, it’s fine.”

“Is it?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

He nodded and replaced the earbud. You drew your legs up into the booth, getting comfortable. As he sipped his drink, you pulled out your phone and checked e-mails. When you finished with that, you scrolled through your social media, checking updates. He leaned against you, tilted his head to yours. As you swiped through pages, you held the screen to him to share memes and photos. He laughed quietly at some and tentatively raised a finger to scroll past others. Eventually, he was controlling the content entirely and navigated to your FaceBook to flip through photos.

\--------

Nearly an hour had passed when Newt sent the text that he was finally off the plane. You shot up from your seat, watching the end of the hall. When Newt appeared, balancing a carry-on bag on each shoulder, you tapped Credence to get his attention. He looked up at you, star-struck for a moment, before he pulled the earbuds out. The ambient noise assaulted his ears, and you said, “I’m going to help with his bags. Stay put for a sec, okay?”

He nodded and unceremoniously replaced the buds as you left your phone and satchel with him. You brisked out of the café and dashed up the walkway to the copper-haired man. As you neared him, he slumped his shoulders, allowing his bags to slide to the ground. He freed his arms and caught you in a hug as you leaped at him. He was taller and easily lifted you bodily upwards, swaying into a squeeze. He placed you down quickly, though, and scooped up a bag. You picked up the other and butted your shoulder into him teasingly. The two of you were laughing and heading back after only a few seconds. 

Credence felt a peculiar warmth watching the exchange. He mused that perhaps jealousy was the appropriate emotion to feel in such a case, but what he was feeling wasn’t actually unpleasant, much to his confusion. You led Newt to the café and were quick to make introductions, so Credence opened his ears to the scattered noise again.

“So, Newt, this is Credence,” you said. “Officially, this time.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” Newt said offhandedly. Credence flinched, convinced that there was a disappointed tone to the other man’s voice. Newt seemed to notice and he quickly corrected, “Pleasant surprise, I should say.”

Newt looked more disheveled than Credence had imagined, his hair sticking out in all directions and his button-up shirt tucked half in and half out. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and when he extended a hand to introduce himself, his tan skin was distracting, freckles and scars jumping out like neon signs. Credence tried not to focus on them, as he hoped Newt wouldn’t on his own scars. Thankfully, Newt kept his handshake as brief as his hug with you and if he had noticed the cuts on Credence’s palms, he didn’t mention them.

“It’s nice to meet you… in person, I mean,” Credence said awkwardly.

“Same to you,” Newt replied. He sidestepped around you, placing you in between himself and Credence to act as a mediator. You ushered Credence from the booth, signaling that it was time to leave and when he stood, Newt gasped, “You’re taller than I expected.”

“I… what?” Credence stammered.

“You were sitting in the video chat,” Newt reminded. “Never mind, though, I was only thinking aloud.”

His accent was much heavier than it had been on FaceTime and his words were running together a bit. Beside him, you shook your head and pushed Newt to the door. “C’mon, let’s get to the car. You can sleep on the way home.”

“M’not that tired, though,” Newt argued.

“You sound half asleep,” you rebutted. You adjusted Newt’s bag on your shoulder and locked your free arm through Credence’s.

“I’ll be better once I can stretch my legs,” Newt said. His gaze briefly flicked to your entwined arms them back to the front. “Plus, I’m starving.”

“We could stop in at Martha’s,” you offered. Looking up to Credence, you explained, “There’s this little diner, local place, very lowkey. We’ll probably miss the breakfast crowd with it being this late in the morning. Would you mind going?”

Credence wasn’t in much of a position to decline, but he imagined that it wouldn’t be so overwhelmingly crowded. He simply nodded. You made a quick swing by the baggage claim to retrieve Newt’s larger luggage before heading to the car.

\------

Newt insisted that Credence get shotgun seat, but he perched himself at the back of your headrest and chattered nonstop on the drive to Martha’s Diner. The ramble was cut momentarily as you were seated but started up the moment after Newt had ordered a breakfast plate of some sort. Despite having eaten, you added a Belgian waffle to the order and nudged Credence with a whispered, “You have to help me eat it, okay?”

Newt had apparently had a run-in with some wild lions during his extended stay. The white cub had been abandoned and Newt had been the one to retrieve it, despite being flanked by the two lion brothers that headed the pride. Or, at least, that was what Credence gathered. Newt was speaking in such a rapid-fire that it was hard to keep up.

“So, you could’ve died,” you grumbled.

“There were tranquilizers at the ready, if the need arose,” Newt argued. 

“And how long does it take those to kick in?”

“Only a few… minutes.”

“So, you could’ve died,” you deadpanned. 

“Well, we saved little Nundu and no one got maimed,” he said flippantly. “Still terribly upset that I couldn’t mark that off my list, so you know.”

“You’re an idiot,” you groaned.

Your food arrived and Newt paused only long enough to devour his plate of eggs and breakfast fare. The waffle you ordered was huge, fluffy, and covered in fruit and whipped cream. It was ridiculously extravagant and Credence bit back a smile. He wished that Modesty could have come along, as sweets were a weakness of hers.

Credence wasn’t hungry, but he humored you and took a few bites of the sugary treat. Honestly, you weren’t hungry either, but Newt was apparently famished and finished off what the two of you left.

After eating, you drank coffee and allowed your food to settle and Newt began talking again. “So, Credence, what, ah, do you do?” Credence looked adrift and you frowned at Newt. He quickly rephrased, “Rather, what are your… interests?”

“Smooth,” you sighed.

Credence stuttered, “I don’t… really…” 

“You play piano, don’t you?” you offered.

“Yes,” he said gratefully.

“And, you have a beautiful singing voice,” you said enthusiastically. 

“I… really?” His cheeks flushed and you took his hand under the table.

“You do,” you said soundly. “Newt does, too, if he’s not being a complete idiot about it.”

“What’s the point if you aren’t having fun at it?” Newt said, feigning offense.

After a few more awkward minutes of questioning back and forth, Credence seemed to relax a little. The conversation began to sway more towards Newt’s work, which he could easily talk about for hours. Credence was happy to let him.

Newt picked up the tab, stood and stretched. “Well, back to sitting for a couple of hours.”

“You’ll need to go for a run where we get back,” you laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” he warned. “I’ll drag you along.”

“Please don’t,” you whined. “It’s still so hot, I’ll absolutely melt.”

Outside, Credence hopped into the passenger seat and Newt followed you around to the driver’s side. He casually leaned in before the doors were opened and asked, “All good?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” you said, not missing a beat.

\--------------

“If I’m annoying you, please just tell me to stop talking, right?” 

Credence smiled. In the hour that they’d been in the car thus far, Newt had said the same thing four times already. “It’s okay, really,” he insisted. “I’m not annoyed.”

You met Credence’s gaze briefly, grinning at him. Newt had been talking in length about the different ecosystems found in Africa and how they differed greatly depending on the region and which one he had been in. Then he moved to discussing the fauna. Then he rambled on to animal husbandry, which reminded him that Credence had asked about Frank’s lifespan.

“So, Frank is an umbrella cockatoo,” Newt explained. “In captivity, they average forty to sixty years, but some have even lived into their eighties.”

“A bird?” Credence gasped. “A bird can live that long?”

“If properly cared for,” Newt added. 

“Frank is going to live forever,” you groaned. “And when Newt dies and wills him to me, I’ll have to designate the new ‘unfortunate bird mom’ after me.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Newt shushed.

“Just don’t will me Pickett.”

“He isn’t the hateful creature you make him out to be,” Newt hummed.

“He bites the shit out of me!” you grumbled. 

“What is… Pickett?” Credence interrupted.

Newt hovered at the headrests again. “Pickett is a veiled chameleon.”

“So, he changes colors, right?” 

“Yes and no,” Newt said excitedly. “They don’t change in the dramatic way that media portrays. Their colors range from green to brown, and they change as a defense mechanism when they’re afraid.”

Credence wondered if Newt, who was colorblind, was able to see the varying degrees of his pet’s color, but he kept it to himself, thinking that it would be rude to ask.

\------

Conversation continued for the rest of the ride, interrupted every few minutes when a song particularly caught someone’s interest and one or more parties erupted into singing. As you had said, Newt’s voice was lovely when controlled, though he sang loudly and intentionally out of key with certain songs. Credence also knew a few of the chosen songs and he sang along quietly at first, becoming braver when pushed. 

Overall, his first impression of your roommate was favorable and he thought maybe, just maybe, he could manage to keep up some semblance of normalcy to keep the two of you around. With the way Newt acted, though, he did wonder just how much the other man knew about his issues. You had assured Credence that Newt knew what you knew, but he hadn’t alluded to it at all—and Newt hardly seemed the tactful type. Credence pushed the thoughts roughly aside, lest they consume him.

\----------

When you returned to the city limits, Credence requested to be dropped off at his house. He felt sure that Newt would want to go home and unpack, and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome—not to mention he was completely unprepared to venture to your house, your personal space.

Credence was wary as you drove down his street, watching carefully for any churchgoers that might be out and about and in view to catch him red-handed. When you neared his house, he took a startled breath and ducked down as low as he could.

“Credence?” you gasped.

“Is there a car in my driveway?” he asked in a panic.

You looked forward and— “Yeah, there is.”

“Oh no,” he said, his voice coming across as more of a whimper. “No, no, no.” His Ma was not supposed to be home—it was barely noon yet—but it was definitely her car parked there. He was restricted from going anywhere but home and the church and he had no way of knowing if she had been to both places looking for him—and she most certainly would be looking for him. He felt his throat closing up in fear.

“Keep driving,” Newt said easily from the back seat. He, too, ducked low and poked his head between the seats. “Credence, don’t panic.”

“I’m not supposed to be—” Credence cut off with a shuddered breath. He knew what would be waiting for him at home—that he could handle. But, now he was crumbling in front of Newt and he was blowing everything and he would hate him for sure now and—

Newt’s hand splayed on his back and he took a gasped breath. “Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

“Drop me off further away,” Credence stammered. “I’ll walk back and she won’t see you—”

“No way,” you clipped, your teeth nearly chattering with anger. “What’s going to happen if you go back now? Hey—” You offered your hand over and he took it like a lifeline. “—we’ll figure something out.”

“The longer I’m gone, the worse it’ll be.” When you had put a good distance between the car and the house, Credence leaned up slightly. “If she hasn’t been there long, I can say that I went for a walk. She won’t like it, but it won’t be as bad.”

“I don’t want it to be bad at all,” you argued. 

“Can you think of anything that would work as an excuse?” Newt asked. “She’s never seen me, so I can play along with anything.”

“I can’t be anywhere but home or the church,” Credence said. 

“I met you at the church then.”

“No, that won’t work,” Credence refused. “It’s too suspicious. I don’t… talk to anyone. Just let me walk back. That’s the best I can hope for.”

“Credence, please, just think about this for a second,” you begged.

“I’ll be fine,” he argued. “It won’t be any worse than anything else. And, as long as she doesn’t know where I went, I can still… we can still…” He squeezed your hand. “I’ll be okay.” His Ma would find something to blame him for, if not this. She always did.

You slowed to a stop and put the car in park. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I’ll be okay,” he repeated. He popped the door open and slipped out, calling back, “I’m sorry.” He shut the door and headed down the road, not daring to look back lest he lose his resolve.

You watched him in your rear mirror, feeling your chest swell with hurt. Finally, Newt said, “Hey, you should go.”

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“You have to,” Newt urged. “If he isn’t ready to run, you can’t force him, and you know if you get involved directly, it won’t help. Pick your battles.”

“I hate being so helpless.”

“Give me that Graves fellow’s number,” Newt said. “I’ll see what can be done about expediting an investigation. But, for now, we just need to go home and make a plan.”

\--------

Credence crept in through the front door, knowing that using the back door was pointless. His Ma was sitting like a statue, guarding the door like a sentry. He closed the door quietly behind himself and kept his gaze fixed down.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said, thinking it best to start with an apology. “I was just—”

“I’m in no mood for your excuses,” she snapped, holding her hand out for his belt. He shakily unbuckled and removed it, handing it over, kneeling, and baring his palms. 

She made fifteen lashes, taking strips of skin toward the end, and he bit into his lip until he tasted iron. After that, she dropped the belt with a clatter to the floor. He dared to raise his head, only to receive a slap across his cheek. 

“If I find out that you were out there causing trouble again, you’ll get a lot worse,” she warned. “Now, I have an important meeting to get to. While I’m gone, you will watch your sister and neither of you will so much as breath wrong or it’ll be the belt for the both of you when I get back, do you understand me?”

He was confused as to what she meant by watching his sister, but he simply said, “Yes, Ma.”

“Honesty, I don’t know why I bother with you, you horrid child.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.” He expected another slap but it didn’t come. Instead, she side-stepped him and exited the house, leaving him kneeling, his hands throbbing and oozing blood. He slowly stood, trying to keep his hands elevated. All things considered, it was fortunate that she had pressing things to attend to or his beating could have been much worse. Of course, she could continue it later. Also, she was angry with one of his sisters and if she remained that way, he would have to divert her scorn later, keep it directed only at himself.

He washed his hands quickly and placed Band-aids on the worst areas of his cuts. Then, he ducked his head into his sisters’ room. Modesty was there, looking terribly ill. “Modesty?”

“I’m sorry,” she whined. “I got real sick at school. They called Ma. I didn’t want them to, but they said they had to.” 

He walked in and sat on her bed, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand. “You don’t feel feverish, at least.”

“I’m sorry, Credence,” she cried. “I knew you’d be with your girlfriend, so I didn’t want Ma to come get me. She didn’t hit you too hard, did she?”

“No,” Credence lied. “It barely even hurts anymore.”

“You should run away,” Modesty said. “You can do that and no one can stop you. That’s what Cassie says.”

“I can’t just leave you two,” Credence argued softly, petting her hair. “I’m okay, Moddy. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But don’t you want to go live with your girlfriend? She told Cassie that she wants you to live with her. She really, really likes you, Credence.”

“She already lives with a friend,” Credence said. It wasn’t a lie. “She’s saying she wants me there to be nice, but it would be crowded and she wouldn’t like it. I need to stay here, okay?” Modesty pouted at him and he changed the subject. “Do you want to hear what I did this morning?”


End file.
